


Fuck Off (I don't want to)

by ChompMom



Series: I Don't Want To [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Hello yes I had writer's block and this came out, I may be going overboard with marking the warnings but I just want ppl to be safe, I'm still getting the hang of this thing, Kidnapping, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Obsessive Behavior, Other, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Poor Life Choices, Possessive Behavior, Probable use of triggering language for those with mental health issues, Reader's gender is left up to interpretation, Stalking, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, bumped the rating up cause of reasons, but not by a main character, two damaged people trying to fix each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChompMom/pseuds/ChompMom
Summary: You're just a human, trying to live your life, trying to forget your past and move on.  He's some weird skeleton who won't leave you alone and seems to think you belong together.  You're NOT interested.  Surely this can't end well.---Something I used as a tool against writer's block.  A bit of a vent piece.  Probably will update sporadically.





	1. Fuck Off

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by lots of really good reader/HT!Sans fics out there as well as my own baggage. Sans is definitely not true to Sour-Apple-Studio's Horrortale (pls check it out if you haven't hooo boy.)

You stopped mid step, a feeling of somebody watching you tickling the back of your neck. It was that goddamned skeleton again, wasn't it. You grit your teeth, fighting the incoming rage and resumed walking. 

It was the same thing every day: wake up, walk to work, be followed, work, walk home, be followed, bed. After snapping at him to leave you the fuck alone he'd stopped trying to approach you but it did not prevent him from dogging your steps anytime you left your apartment. 

The first time you met him was while you were on your way out of your psychiatrist's office. You were tense from a full day of dealing with people and then practically begging the doctor to just renew your fucking prescriptions already so you could function. As you pushed open the door out of the reception area to leave, you accidentally ended up shoulder checking somebody on the other side. 

Something akin to an electric shock shot up your arm, causing you to gasp and stumble. Much to your surprise, the person you'd run into was a rather tall, stocky skeleton with a horrifying crack in his skull and one hypnotic, deep red light in his eye socket. That single light was fixed on you and quivering frantically, making you uneasy. Monsters had only been on the surface for about a year now, so this was your first time encountering one in real life. Despite not knowing any personally, you knew them to be unstable and rather bad at integrating into human society.

The government, in conjunction with the former queen of monsters, had released statements informing the public of the horrific conditions monsters had to endure while trapped under the mountain. While certain details had been pointedly excluded from these reports, it was pretty common knowledge that the monsters had resorted to both cannibalism and the consumption of humans that fell into their mountainous prison. While no longer overtly violent, due to government-provided food and mental health care, monsters were still stuck in the mindset that any meal could be their last and that trusting somebody could be their death. Basically, you had no desire to start shit with anyone, let alone this rather intimidating monster. 

A quick inclination of your head and a muttered apology were all you offered before booking it out of there. You swore you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the back of your head as you scurried away. 

The second time you met was also at the psychiatrist’s office, although this time he was in the waiting room already when you arrived. Much to your horror, he jumped to his feet when you walked through the door and made a beeline for you. Pointedly keeping your head down, you marched up to the counter and pulled out your debit card to pay your balance, as you just got paid and didn't want to forget to do so this time. The clinic would tack on extra fees if you were late paying for appointments, which you really could not afford right now. 

As much as you tried to ignore it, you were painfully aware of the skeleton, hovering over your shoulder, fidgeting relentlessly. The receptionist gave you a rather sympathetic look as he swiped your card and then returned it to you. “Just tolerate it,” the receptionist’s expression seemed to say and you fiddled with your wallet nervously before slipping your card back in its slot. 

Full of dread, you finally turned to walk out, hoping to avoid any sort of confrontation with the monster. You didn't know what his deal was but it was obvious he wanted to speak with you. Your eyes nervously darted up to meet his blazing eye light, a move which you immediately regretted. The look on his face was one of pure madness: the look of somebody who was not present, who was far away, trapped in their own mind. You would know, you've had plenty of experience with such things. 

His jaw creaked open slightly, and he seemed to take a huge breath in. It looked as though he was just about to speak when the door that led to the back offices popped open, breaking the tense atmosphere. One of the doctors stuck her head out and called for her next patient, “Sans Snowdin?” The skeleton before you jumped, and his single light panned over to eye the doctor. Taking this as your opportunity, you quickly sidestepped the monster and practically dashed to the office door. Once reaching the street, you didn't stop running until you'd made it back to your shitty little apartment and locked the door behind you. 

Completely overwhelmed, you pulled out from your backpack your ‘take as needed’ anti anxiety meds and dry swallowed one pill. You never wanted to see that skeleton again. You didn't care if people thought your reactions were racist, you really just got a bad vibe from that monster. Sans. Although he hadn't necessarily confirmed that that was his name, somehow you just knew it was. A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the way he had been staring at you. The expression was one you couldn't quite place and you found yourself feeling ill as you contemplated it. 

Deciding a proper distraction was in order, you dug out your bulky, old iPod and crammed the cheap earbuds into your ears. Picking a playlist full of music too busy to think to, you finally dragged yourself to the lumpy couch in your living room and slumped onto it. Eventually the meds kicked in and you fell into a dreamless slumber. 

The third time you met him was while you were at work, stocking shelves at the grocery store where you'd been working for two years now. You'd enjoyed this job, as it allowed you to get paid based on how much you got done and required minimal interaction with customers. Somebody didn't get the memo however, so as you were stacking cans of refried beans you heard footsteps come up behind you and stop. Assuming it was a customer after an item you were crouched in front of, blocking the way, you braced your hands on your knees and slowly stood up. Without looking up, you sidled away to allow the customer to properly see the shelves. You kept your gaze firmly on your own ratty, old sneakers, desperate to avoid eye contact. The moment you locked eyes with another person you would feel **compelled** to react, which would require you to pull your mind out of your working haze and make a poor attempt at acting human. You couldn't right now, you just couldn't. Today was a bad day. 

When the customer made no move to grab an item or continue their shopping elsewhere, you felt your gut clench with the knowledge that you'd have to interact. Steeling yourself, you raised your head, only to meet the single, penetrating eye light of Sans Snowdin. Your heart immediately began thumping wildly, why was he **here** of all places. You had nowhere to run. You had to…you had to interact. 

Voice cracking from disuse, you asked if there was anything you could help him with. Instead of answering you, his light moved on from studying your face and down to your chest area. With a stab of fear, you realized he was reading your nametag. You did **not** want this monster to know your name. Your hand shot up, clutching your shirt where the tag was pinned, trying to shield it from his gaze. His light moved back to your face and he finally spoke, murmuring your name as if tasting it. His voice sounded even more out of use than yours and was deep, gravelly, and rumbling like an approaching storm. 

You could feel the panic overtake you and you stepped back from him, poised to run. As one skeletal hand reached out, as though to catch you, you lurched away and ran to the break room, letting your manager know you were taking your lunch. You hid in the back room as long as you could without getting told off, before tentatively returning to your cans of beans. A quick tour of the store revealed that the skeleton had vacated the premises, much to your relief. 

The fourth time you met, you **knew** it was no longer a coincidence. It was the day after he'd come up to you at work, except this time he was leaned up against the stuccoed wall near the sliding glass entrance doors when you arrived at work. His boney eyelids shot wide open and that single red light fixated on you again. You'd have to walk right past him if you wanted to get to work. 

He pushed himself off the wall and approached you. Like a rabbit that caught the eye of a wolf, your breathing stopped, and your muscles seized up. You watched him approach with abject horror, unable to act. As his foot crunched over a half empty, abandoned bag of chips on the ground, you were startled out of your reverie. Faster than you thought yourself capable of, you darted around him, ducking his outstretched arm and fled to the relative safety of the store. 

Your manager flashed you a confused look as you dashed past her into the back room where you tried to regulate your breathing and pulled out your pills again. They'd make it a bit more difficult for you to work, but you needed them right now. After a sip of water and a few seconds of quiet, you proceeded to exit the break room. 

When you did it felt as though the bottom had dropped out of your stomach. He was **still there**. Standing among the canned soups, he was obviously waiting for you to reappear. What the fuck do you even do in this situation?! No way in hell are you calling the cops, that'll just make it all worse. No. No more cops in your life. You could ask your manager for help but she was hardly an imposing figure. Her petite frame and cute looks couldn't scare a baby, let alone this terrifying, looming skeleton monster. He could probably swallow her in one gulp. No. You'd deal with this yourself. Just. Stay calm, he can't do anything to you in public. 

As he'd already broken some core tenants of human social behavior, you figured you could forgo your usual put-upon customer service voice and skip straight to the pissed off vibe of an angry cat. The mental image of puffing out imaginary fur to make yourself look more intimidating bolstered your courage and allowed you to march up to the skeleton. Instead of looking put off, he seemed maniacally gleeful that you were finally approaching him of your own free will. You stopped with a good distance between you two and and planted your feet firmly, face pulled into your most stern expression. 

“What do you want?” No beating around the bush today. You wanted this solved and done with. 

The manic look on his face seemed to melt, transforming into a serene smile. For the second time in your life, you felt that deep voice rumble through your chest, “You. I want you.”

Hiding your terror behind a disgusted sneer, you shot back at him, “You don't even know me. If this is your method of flirting or trying to befriend me or something you're doing a horrible job. Also, I'm not interested, regardless of what you want.”

His gentle smile dropped a little, and he rumbled out, “‘m sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I… can't you feel it?”

“Feel what? Uncomfortable and harassed? Because if so then yes, yes I can.”

He looked slightly anguished now, how the hell could you keep up with these emotions? “You. You and I we're… **meant** to be together.”

Any bravado you'd managed to muster up drained right out of you. This monster was delusional, obviously. And he was apparently obsessed with you. He clutched at his shirt, right over where the heart would be on a human and whispered, “soulmates.”

You choked down your terror as best you could and stammered out, “You… I'm going to need you to leave, sir.”

The skeleton’s expression flattened at that. He slipped the fingers of one clawed hand into his glaringly empty eye socket and **tugged**.

Your manager chose just that moment to intervene, standing between you and the monster, though she stood nearly a head shorter than you, and three shorter than him. She pulled out her best in-charge voice and insisted that he stop harassing her employee or she would have to call the police. As she continued to tell him off, you could feel your panic spiraling out of control. No, no don't call the cops don't don't don't you can't.

Despite the fact that she was getting in his face, the skeleton had eyes only for you. He seemed to be taking in and studying your panicked visage as he continuously tugged on the rim of his socket. “Alright.”

That single, deeply toned spoken word was enough to stop your manager’s tirade in its tracks. He stiffly turned on his heel and walked out the front door. You and your manager stood in the quiet of the now empty grocery store. It had never felt so stiflingly tiny, despite the fact that it was always a rather small establishment. Your manager eventually turned to you and asked if you were alright. As though coming up for air after diving into a lake, you swam through your thick, heavy thoughts until you reached the surface. A quick nod of your head was all the communication you could manage but your manager was used to it. She gave you a tentative smile and went back to the till. 

The fifth time you met him was exactly a week after that nightmare of an interaction. This gave you enough time to start doubting yourself. Perhaps you were being too harsh, after all, he hadn't done anything to hurt you. Maybe nasty rumors about monsters had clouded your judgement. Maybe he wasn't trying to be creepy. Maybe you were just racist. Or… maybe he was going to wait until you were least suspecting and attack you. No. Stop thinking about it. 

You noticed him as you walked home from work in the evening. He was following you down the sidewalk, about a block behind you. Heartbeat picking up to marathon heights, you started walking faster. You made it past three rundown store fronts before realising you were leading him right to your apartment. He already knew your name and where you worked and which mental health clinic you went to. You couldn't afford to show him where you lived. 

Reaching a decision, you stepped into an old thrift shop, the one you got most of your shoes and eating utensils from. The familiar jingle of the bell comforted you slightly as you entered but then horrified you as it rang out again in quick succession, indicating somebody had come in behind you. 

You clenched your jaw and turned to face the skeleton you **knew** was behind you. He preemptively had his fingers in his eye socket, tugging repetitively. His red eye light, now practically familiar, was once again fixed on you. You waited for him to speak, taking note that the deaf old man who ran the store was watching the two of you with hawkish intensity. You knew you could count on him to step in if things got ugly. 

Sans once again spoke your name, causing you to flinch. His neutral expression turned to a grimace at your reaction. Seemingly desperate, he spoke again, “‘m really sorry I scared you but I **p r o m i s e** I will never do anything to hurt you.” His emphasis on the word promise did nothing to ease your fears or calm your galloping heart. Despite his terrifying visage, you could feel the earnestness of his promise. However, considering what you knew about being disassociated from reality, you couldn't trust a word he said. Your experiences wouldn't allow you to. 

Quietly, oh so quietly you responded, “how the fuck do you expect me to trust somebody who follows me around and harasses me at work? I cannot and will not believe anything you say.”

The monster took a step back, staggering as though he'd been shot. That anguish was back in his eyes again but you hardened your heart against it. Nearly all your kindness and compassion had been wrung out of you by life and you certainly wouldn't spare any for this monster. 

Seemingly injured by your words, the skeleton stumbled back to the door and let himself out. Idly you wondered why a deaf man would put a bell on his store's door. Maybe it was there before he took over. Yep. You were definitely disassociating again. 

The owner hobbled over to you with his cane, which he tucked under one arm to sign, checking on you. Unable to bring yourself to respond properly, you signed a quick OK and sunk down to the floor. Some time passed before the old man wandered back into your hazy field of vision and handed you a cup of tea from an old, chipped tea set that usually sat on his back counter. Shaking yourself out a bit, you took the cup and signed a quick thanks before taking a tentative sip of tea. You hoped this would be the last time you'd encounter Sans Snowdin. 

It wasn't. 

The sixth time you met him, he was waiting for you outside your apartment building. You figured he must have followed you home from work at some point. Today was a particularly muted day, dampening any fearful thoughts and feelings you might have typically had in this situation. You watched with dull eyes and disinterested posture as he shuffled closer to you, seemingly trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. He hunched in on himself and his eye light was cast submissively to the ground. Maybe he'd been studying up on how to approach wild animals. You certainly felt like one most days. 

His light darted up to meet your eyes, and you swore it flickered to an upside-down heart for a moment. Wow. Seems you might be hallucinating today too. Great. Unable to muster the will to react, you waited passively for him to do or say whatever it is he wanted to do or say. You weren't in any state of mind to stop him. 

At your silence and lack of reaction, he fidgeted with his phalanges, tap tap tapping them together, creating a soft, clinking rhythm. You stared at the sharpened points coming together, unable to focus on anything else. His deep voice interrupted the rhythm, vaguely catching your attention. “Can I walk you to and from work? It's not safe at the best of times and this is a bad neighborhood.” You knew that. You also didn't care. 

“It's not like I can stop you anyway,” you responded dully, shrugging one shoulder lazily. Taking that as a yes, he oriented his body as though the two of you were buddies that walked together all the time. You ignored him and began your trek to work. 

True to his word, he began walking you to and from work every day. Each day you ticked up the meeting count. From six meetings to ten to twelve and beyond. He became a fixture in your life, as much as the cracked sidewalk and faded graffiti you passed every day. Occasionally there would be a police car parked on the street, causing you to duck into alleys or turn down side streets to avoid them. Your silent companion seemed to take note of this behavior but didn't comment on it. 

As afraid as you were of him, you appreciated the bonus personal space his presence afforded. People on the street avoided eye contact and would often cross the street to keep away from him. This suited you just fine. 

You had actually started to consider attempting to be social with him on those walks when you had another incident. As you passed the laundromat on your way home from work, a familiar face caught your attention. It was one of your old friends from before you were… isolated. He turned from where he was folding his clothing and caught your eye. He broke out into that huge, warm smile that nearly brought tears to your eyes from nostalgia. 

He scampered outside to greet you, as happy and energetic as he always was. Before you could go in for your customary hug, your usually silent companion made himself known with a rumbling growl. Your friend paused in his action, smile faltering only for a second before it was bolstered again. He held out his hand, introducing himself to Sans, who, with death in his empty sockets, reached out as well. 

A buzz and a yelp and a flash of red and your friend was cradling a bleeding palm against his chest. Sans had planted himself firmly between the two of you, preventing you from seeing his expression. Based on the terrified look your friend had on his face, you gathered it was not a good one. Your friend shot you a pleading look, undoubtedly wanting backup. He was never very good with confrontation. Sans, however, sidestepped until he cut off your view completely. Memories rushed into you, unbidden, filling your head fit to bursting. 

A friendly face, a jealous lover. Mental separation escalating to physical separation. You were isolated, not allowed to interact with any of your friends. **He** wouldn't let you. You tried to protest, a raised hand, raised voices, neighbors called the police **it's your fault**. They wouldn't help you, **he** was friends with them, **he** was their co-worker. Uniforms, belts strapped with guns and batons. They wouldn't help you. They were just another enemy. 

A pitiful sound left your throat as you sunk to the ground with the weight of your emotions. Quicker than your eyes could possibly follow, Sans was crouched before you, eye light filled with concern. As he reached out one bony hand as though to comfort you, you shrieked, scrabbling away from him, fearing punishment. **He** always hated it when you tried to talk with other people, especially old friends. Why would Sans be any different? 

Sans had frozen with his phalanges outstretched, crouched on the dirty sidewalk, single eye light quivering in dismay. Your old friend gingerly stepped around him, but he didn't react to the movement. Soon you were wrapped in a warm embrace, and tears came to your eyes. How long had it been since you were given physical affection from one who loved you? You honestly couldn't remember. You collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Years of anguish and solitude leaked slowly out of you, lightening your burden, bit by bit. 

You turned your head to nuzzle into his shoulder and were met with the sickening scent of blood. Remembering his injury, you pulled back and took his hand into your own. His palm had been eviscerated, as though by a blade that had been cruelly twisted to maximize the pain and damage. You choked on a sob and started murmuring apologies, to which your friend reassured you, over and over in his quietest, most gentle voice that he was okay. Thankfully, you kept a small first aid kit in your backpack and were able to find some antiseptic and clean gauze to wrap his hand.

You did this, **you** hurt your friend. Again. Why couldn't you do anything right, this is just like...wait. No. Sans hurt your friend. Your head snapped up to find the monster. To tell the copy of **him** in your mind that he didn't control you anymore. Trembling with rage and fear, you spit out, “You! Stay the **fuck** away from me and the **fuck** away from my friends. **Fuck. Off**.”

With a wheezing gasp, Sans stumbled to his feet. His eye light was gone and his fingers were firmly tugging on his other, empty socket. You watched as he clumsily wandered away, clutching his free hand to his chest desperately. As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight, you turned back to your friend and helped him inside the laundromat. A couple curious pairs of eyes darted away from you as you entered. You had never felt more drained in your life. 

It was a month until you saw him again, although you had a feeling it was only because he wanted to be seen. You had no doubt he'd been covertly following you to and from work again. Quietly your mind ticked off the counter, this was your 21st meeting. He had waited until you got off work, standing in the same spot where you'd met for the fourth time. You lacked the required energy to ward him off, so you chose to just ignore him. 

He followed you home, by your side as he had done before he injured your friend. You could feel his gaze like a physical force, boring into the side of your head. When you arrived outside your apartment building, he simply turned and disappeared into the night. That suited you just fine. He attempted to continue that routine the next morning but you had had a full night of medically-induced rest and you were tired of his shit. 

“If you're going to keep stalking me, I don't want to see you. Just stay the fuck away from me.” You told him, as cold as you could muster. 

His face twitched, neutral grin straining, before he complied, walking away from you. Somewhat satisfied, you continued on with your day, vaguely aware of the single eye that was always on you. 

That was all that led up to the present moment. You were already pissed off today and had no desire to fend off your skeletal stalker. You continued grinding your teeth, idly thinking about how old you'd be when you needed dentures and if you'd even make it that far. It was late in the evening, you'd had a run-in with some particularly rude customers at work, you'd had a long day, and you just wanted to go home and crash. 

So involved in your rage, you didn't notice the hand that reached out and snagged your shirt collar, yanking you into an alleyway. A knife pressed into your throat and whiskey-laced breath wafted into your face. You were hoping and praying this was just a mugging, but the hard erection currently pressing into your ass quickly disabused you of that notion. 

You tried to pull away from your assailant’s grip but all that got you was a hard yank on your hair and a nick on your throat. He pulled your hair again, getting you to look up into the face of one of the men who had harassed you at work today. The one behind you must be his buddy. You wondered how long they'd been waiting here to acoust you and if they'd find it worth the effort when it was all said and done. 

Before either man was able to do anything more to you, a feeling of static, as if lightning were about to strike, pulsed through the alley. Your assailants were torn away from you, leaving you to stumble into the dirty brick wall. A terrifyingly feral rumbling filled the alley and suddenly he was there. Sans. Your heart filled with tentative hope. At least those men wouldn't have you tonight. 

He bodily blocked the space between you and the two men, growling never ceasing. You watched with detached fascination as the skeleton eviscerated them with nothing but his bare claws. He was like a wild beast, how you imagined a mother wolf would fiercely fight to protect her pups. Within a matter of seconds, they were no longer recognisable as humans, they were just a pile of gore and clothing. Sans was standing in the dim light of the alley, dripping blood. He was covered from his skull to his dirty shoes and his jacket sleeves were absolutely saturated. You couldn't help but notice how radiant his eye light was in the dark. He stood out, stark white and blood red, a morbidly beautiful form in the night. 

The events of the past few minutes finally caught up with you, and you began crying quietly. Slowly, so slowly you approached Sans from behind and wrapped your arms around him, seeking comfort. He initially stiffened, before rotating slowly to face you. Tentatively, as though you'd startle like a bird, he placed a large, wet, clawed hand on your head. When you didn't reject his touch, he began gently petting your head and pulled you closer to his body with his other arm. You couldn't help but notice how warm his body was, pressed up against him as you were. He was much more solid and bulky than you'd expected, and he hummed with some strange energy you found immensely comforting. He eventually spoke, voice rumbling through his chest and into your own, “Want me to take ya home?”

You nodded into his chest and clung to him even more firmly as he picked you up with all the ease one would use to pick up a kitten. He cradled your limp body to his chest and began walking. The swaying motion of his steps were slowly putting you to sleep. Somehow, now that you were in his arms, you **knew** there was no place safer.

You woke when the motions stopped and you lifted your head from his chest where it rested. He'd brought you to your apartment building, as you'd asked. You were too tired to deal with this yourself, and right now, you wanted to trust him. “In my backpack, front pocket. My keys. I assume you know my apartment number?”

He shifted uncomfortably and looked down at you before responding. “I'm covered in blood ‘n holding a visibly distressed human, I don't think that will go over well with yer neighbors.”

You shook your head slowly, “There's no snitches in this neighborhood. It's one of the reasons I live here.”

Seemingly pacified by your response, he proceeded into your building and up to your apartment door. He deftly retrieved your keys and unlocked the door with one hand, the other supporting you effortlessly. Once inside he took you immediately to your bathroom to clean up. Somehow you weren't surprised that he seemed to know the layout of your apartment by heart. 

He removed his blood-soaked jacket and started to wet a towel to wipe your face. With smooth, gentle strokes he cleaned the cut on your neck and carefully placed a bandage over it. After cleaning up, he lifted you back into his arms and put you in your bed. No doubt you were getting blood and dirt on your sheets but that was a problem for future you to deal with. 

After you got settled, Sans retrieved his jacket from the bathroom and headed towards the front door. Something in your chest screamed for you to stop him. You didn't know why but you **needed** him right now. You hopped out of bed and stumbled into the living room/kitchen area. 

“Wait.” He stopped and turned to face you, a look of confusion on his face. He was still covered in blood. 

“You...you can use my shower if you want. And um borrow some clothes. I should have at least some sweats that could fit you.”

He stayed by the door, still poised to leave. You couldn't let him leave. A broken whisper left you in your desperation, “Please don't leave me.”

Still looking confused, he walked away from the door and stood in front of you. You looked down in shame.

“I...I need you right now. Please, stay.”

After a moment, his feet moved out of your field of vision, walking away from you. Oh god he was leaving wasn't he. You even managed to scare off your creepy, murderous, obsessive stalker. **He** was laughing at you in the back of your mind. **Nobody will ever love you**. 

The sound of your creaky old shower turning on snapped you out of your spiral of despair. He… wasn't leaving you. He was just showering. Relief hit you like a pile of bricks and you collapsed on your lumpy couch. The familiar pain of a broken spring digging into your back was a welcome reminder that you were home. You were safe. 

A short while later the pipes groaned and the sound of the water shut off. He emerged from the bathroom clad in nothing but a towel. You were astonished to see that he really was just a skeleton. His scarred and cracked ribs were out on display. Wordlessly you got to your feet to retrieve a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that were three sizes too big for you. They should fit him alright. 

He returned to the bathroom to put them on and you threw on a pair of sweats and a tank top for yourself. You stood in the middle of your bedroom, fiddling with your fingers, waiting for him to emerge. What were you going to do when he did? Nothing felt real anymore. 

After what felt like an eternity, he stuck his head into your room and looked at you. Once he saw you were mostly okay, he turned and slumped towards the couch. Okay, that was fine. You plopped onto your own bed, exhausted, and shut off your bedside lamp. You felt only marginally better for having Sans in your apartment. 

Sleep eluded you for hours, you couldn’t tell how many in your drained state, but you knew you’d have to call into work tomorrow. Frustrated, confused, and at the end of your rope, you finally rolled out of bed and crept to your living room. Sans sat up from where he’d been slumped on your couch, looking at you questioningly. Guess he couldn’t sleep either. Did he even need to sleep?

You collapsed on the couch next to him, craving the warmth and safety you’d felt earlier in his arms. Without looking to see his reaction, you crawled into his lap and burrowed your face into his borrowed shirt. He remained still as a statue until you stopped adjusting yourself, then he slowly lowered the two of you into a reclining position, with your head on his chest and his arm around your back. You were out within what felt like moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes as well.


	2. I don't want to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one but from Sans' pov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew...finished this faster than I thought I would (it's also longer than I was intending...woops). Anyway, this is the chapter where the major character death tag comes in. I'm sorry. It also gets a bit more gory than the first chapter but it's not too bad (in my opinion). Just figured I'd warn people. 
> 
> Sans is a sad and creepy boi.

Sans was sick of the Surface. Sans was sick of existence. Nothing had any meaning anymore. The one, last, precious thing he had was taken from him. His brother, sweet, naive, perhaps a little broken, but still loving nonetheless. He always wanted to believe the best in people, even after all the horrible shit he'd been through. He did until the day he was dusted. 

They had been on the surface for only a few months when it happened. It was late in the evening, and Paps wanted to make “Midnight Human-Free Spaghetti” but they were unfortunately fresh out of tomatoes. They needed to make a quick food run. Now that food was plentiful, most monsters found themselves compulsively eating at odd hours of the day and night. The skeleton brothers were no exception. They had been walking to the local supermarket, each clutching their government-issued cards that allowed them to move about and buy food and living essentials. It was important to keep them on-hand to shove in the face of any nosy human who “didn’t like filthy monsters mucking up their streets.” Solid proof that they were allowed to walk in the sun amongst humans once more. 

They had just rounded a corner when something small ran smack-dab into Papyrus. Considering Paps was pushing ten feet, it was pretty easy to be smaller than him, but this was actually a very tiny being. A small human child. They stumbled back from where they’d run into Paps’ leg, blood pouring from their nose. They’d obviously broken it on the skeleton’s unforgiving bones. Just as Paps bent down to check to make sure the human was alright, another young human rushed around the corner, calling for their sibling. Sans understood what had happened, as much as he hated to admit it, he probably would have reacted similarly if things had been reversed. From the perspective of the older sister, only fourteen, her younger brother, whom she was in charge of watching while their parents fucked off to who knows where, was stumbling away from a hulking monster, bleeding profusely from the face. From her perspective, the newly surfaced monsters, rumored to eat humans, were standing over her defenseless little brother, ready to hurt him. With a strangled cry of fear and rage, she rushed Papyrus, pulling a small knife out of her pocket. Normally a child her size and strength would be nowhere near enough to harm Paps, but he was crouched down, trying to help the sobbing, bleeding child. 

In her determination to protect her brother, the human girl had taken **his** brother from him. Her knife hit dead center, right into his soul. She couldn’t have known. She was only trying to defend her brother. Sans understood that. Sans understood that as he knelt on the sidewalk, coated in dust and dotted with blood. His brother’s dust. The kid’s blood. Papyrus. Gone. 

After that night, Sans was put into a special program, designed just for him. He was required to check up with a head doctor on a weekly basis. At first, he’d tried to refuse, feeling no desire to do anything, let alone deal with his issues and emotions. He just wanted to rot away and fade into dust. The (former) queen wouldn’t allow that to happen. She eventually convinced him, “This isn't what he would have wanted, Sans. Try to be happy for him, please.” Using his brother like that was a cheap trick but it did work. Sans would live. For now. 

Without the buffering presence of his much more amiable brother, no monsters wanted to interact with him. He was still seen as the fearsome, merciless butcher, not somebody to befriend. With permission from the queen, Sans got a pass to move from the city at the base of the accursed mountain. He wanted to go far, far away. Away from monsters. Away from humans. To somewhere cold and unforgiving. Someplace that could serve as his hell until he dusted. North. He’d go north. Up north there were mountains and ice fields and empty, hopeless forests. Perfect for him. He’d go there. 

However, he still had to check in with the stupid head doctors. He planned out a map, a trail he could take. He could move from city to city, a bit at a time, from doctor to doctor, until he was far enough north that he could disappear from civilization forever. He subsisted off cheap fast-food (Paps would be livid with him) and slept on the streets. He had no desire or need for comfort, besides, he didn’t deserve it, after all. Couldn’t even protect his own brother. Didn't even end up hurting the kid that dusted him. It was like all his will had been drained out of him the exact moment Papyrus’ soul shattered. 

Numb with the knowledge that it was time for a new appointment, a new doctor, he went to open the door to the clinic. Instead, the door burst open and a human rushed out, bumping heavily into his shoulder. From his soul to the tips of his phalanges to his feet to his skull, he was electrified. His magic radiated off his body in powerful waves. This reaction. What….

He looked down at the human who’d run into him. They. Their soul. It was his. It was **for** him. He studied their face, frantically, desperately. A word resonated in his skull, bouncing, repeating repeating repeating. Soulmates. Soulmate. **His** soulmate. Their eyes darted up to meet his, so shy, so timid. They apologized softly and nodded their head at him. And then they were gone. So stunned by their sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance, he was frozen in his tracks. The fog that clouded his mind since Paps’ death was finally cleared. The chronic headache that came with the hole in his head died down. He couldn't let this clarity fade. Quickly, more quickly than he’d ever moved before, he snapped himself out of his head and followed after them. 

He followed them from the...okay side of town to the not-so-okay side of town. The streets were dirty, people avoided eye contact (although that may just be due to his being a hulking skeleton monster), and broken bottles and used needles lined the gutters. He frowned. This wasn’t a safe place. 

Eventually his soulmate, **his** , stopped outside a decrepit apartment building, fiddling with their backpack. They slipped inside and disappeared from sight. Sans reluctantly gave up his trailing and retreated to an alleyway opposite from their building. He pulled out the cheap phone the government had issued him and rescheduled his doctor’s appointment. This was more important for right now. You. His soulmate. How. You were so tiny, so frail, so...human. You needed to be protected, especially living in a place like this. He hunkered down beside a stinking dumpster and settled in for the night. He’d keep watch over you, at least until he figured out how to integrate himself into your life. He wanted you to need him. He needed you to need him. He didn’t want to frighten you away. Hopefully he hadn’t already. It was as though the universe was giving him a second chance. He may not have Papyrus anymore but he had **you**. He would protect you with everything he had. Nothing would ever happen to you, **ever**.

That evening he camped out in the alley, keeping a watchful eye on the comings and goings of your building. He made careful mental notes of people who lived there and those who seemed to only be visiting. Security was non-existent, as far as Sans could tell, anybody off the street could waltz right in. He hated it, it set his teeth on edge. 

Early in the morning, he perked up as he noticed your familiar form emerging into the weak, morning light. He tailed you until you arrived at a small corner supermarket and slipped inside. He checked his phone. Luckily it'd been fixed so that it could charge off his magic. All government issued monster phones had this feature, so Sans never had to worry about finding a place to charge it. According to his calendar app, he had about twenty minutes to make it to his appointment, and then he'd be able to return to guarding his mate. 

He would have been more than happy to forgo the doctor's appointment altogether but now that he had a reason to stay within human society, namely you, he needed to keep up with his program. Didn't want the queen or the human government breathing down his neck. His attention snapped up from his phone when you re-emerged from the store. He only had a bit more time to follow you before he had to be at his appointment, so he hoped you were heading somewhere safe. 

Turns out you were just going to a bank right down the street. Eventually, he had to leave you to your business and hope nothing would happen in his absence. 

When he arrived at the clinic, the man behind the desk told him the doctor was running a bit behind so his appointment would be delayed slightly. Silently fuming, Sans tapped his phalanges on the waiting room chair rhythmically, trying to distract himself from thoughts of you getting stabbed in the chest, over and over and over and-

The door opened. And **you** stepped in. Without even realizing what he was doing, Sans found himself leaping out of his chair and rushing towards you. He followed behind you as you approached the front desk, interacting with the secretary. Sans found himself tensing at the thought of you and another human getting close. It felt like shards of ice were pressing threateningly at his soul. It took every ounce of self-restraint he had not to hop the counter and strangle the man who **dared** look at you. 

Eventually you seemed to finish up whatever you were doing and turned to leave. He was completely entranced. Thoughts of touching your smooth skin, of caressing you, of just holding you filled his mind. Your eyes were so lovely as they met his. He could get lost in them, he did get lost in them. Drowning, falling, slowly drifting. He opened his mouth to take a deep breath, taking in your scent. You smelled of fear and cheap body wash. He needed to know your name, he needed to speak to you. 

Before he could utter a single sound, a door opened and his name was called. By reflex he turned towards the sound of his name, and before he could stop you, you darted past him out the door. That reaction… 

No. He could ponder this later. Right now he needed to get this damn appointment out of the way. He was particularly uncooperative with the new doctor. She was prying way too much into his living situation. While it wasn't exactly explicitly stated in the rules for monsters, he imagined the government would be unhappy to find he was living on the streets. He eventually got the doc to back off on her line of questioning by stating he was living in a cheap motel temporarily and wasn't comfortable giving her specifics. That mollified her, at least temporarily. 

Thirty agonizingly slow minutes later, he was finally free. Realizing he had no way to track your movements, he started to panic. Right. He needed to confirm you weren't in your apartment first, then he could go hog-wild scouring the city for you. 

Once he'd returned to the alley, he realized he had no way to confirm your presence in your apartment. He'd have to get closer. Filled with anxiety and trepidation, he crossed the road and stepped into your apartment building. It was only slightly less dilapidated on the inside, but considering how dismal the outside was it wasn't really saying much. 

With a deep breath, he reached out with his soul. If you were in this building, he'd find you. A gentle blip on his mental radar alerted him to your general location. He took the creaky stairs, three floors up. Eventually he came to a door that was closest to where your soul had pinged. With a heavy breath, he scented the air, confirming this was your dwelling by your distinct smell. 

That siren song of calm and clarity called to him through the door. He had to see you, if only just for a moment. Mustering up his temperamental magic, he shortcuted to the other side of your door. Luck seemed to be on his side as he found you spread out on an old, well-worn couch, sound asleep. You also appeared to be listening to music of some sort, as you had earbuds in. 

An intense feeling of calm washed over him, looking at your face. You looked so sweet and innocent, your expression relaxed in your slumber. He crept over to your form, tentatively reaching out one hand to caress your cheek. Your skin was so warm, so **soft**. He was addicted already. He wanted to gather you up and hold on to your squishy human form forever. But he couldn't. Not yet. He may have lost some memories and morals along with that chunk of his skull but he still knew that snuggling with a practical stranger would be a terrifying experience for a human to wake up to. The last thing he wanted from you was your fear. He had plenty of that from everybody else. He wanted this to be as normal as possible, for your sake. 

Of course, Sans wasn't stupid. He knew stalking, breaking and entering, and watching somebody while they slept was creepy and abhorrent behavior but he just didn't care. It wouldn't matter as long as you never noticed. After a few precious minutes of admiring your sleeping form, he decided to familiarize himself with your dwelling. It was small and modestly decorated but seemed to be mostly kept clean. There was a small bathroom attached to your bedroom, which was just big enough for a twin bed and a dresser. The main living room was attached to a little kitchenette. There were a handful of dishes in the sink, soaking in water in a half-hearted attempt at rinsing them. 

Satisfied with his light snooping, Sans decided to shortcut back to his alley and wait for morning. He really would have liked to move you to your bed but didn't want to freak you out when you woke up and weren't where you were expecting. He knows how disorienting it is to wake up confused and wanted to spare you that. Hopefully the couch was comfortable. 

The next morning mirrored the previous: you left the building bright and early and went to that corner market. When you didn't come out after a couple hours, he figured it must be your place of employ. He did a couple circuits around the block to familiarize himself with the area. This section of the city was marginally nicer than where you lived but not by much. Still not a safe environment for you, in his opinion. 

In the evening you emerged from the store and began your trek home. He tailed you, again. He slept in the same alley again. 

This pattern continued for a couple days before Sans finally mustered up the courage to try to approach you. His options were somewhat limited, though. He could “run into you” on your way to work but he didn't want to make you late. He didn't want to try after work either because even he knew approaching a lone human at night, no matter what you look like, will come off as threatening. He couldn't approach you near your apartment either. That could be seen as an invasion into your territory and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable or afraid. Unfortunately, besides the days you went to the bank or the clinic, you never went anywhere but your apartment and work. Trying to talk to you at work was his best option. 

He gathered himself and strode through the sliding glass doors. There didn't seem to be any customers in the store. To his left was a cash register with a small adult human woman behind it. She appeared to be doing some sort of calculations on a tiny calculator. Not what he was here for. Offhand, he wondered if this human was going to be a rival for your affection and made note of how tiny she was. Tinier than you, that's for sure. Probably not much of a threat. 

Moving on, he followed the feeling of your soul calling out to him. You were crouched on the ground, organizing cans of food near the end of an aisle. He approached you from behind, being sure to make his steps audible to avoid sneaking up and startling you. Nobody likes to be startled. After a moment, you reacted to his presence by rising to your feet, but kept your eyes averted from his. He couldn't help but lose himself in admiring your form. Lovely eyes, soft skin… and your soul. While he had sort of lost his ability to read souls with ease, his place as your soulmate allowed him to sense the radiance that was the culmination of your being. He wanted to see it, to hold it **so** badly. But he was getting ahead of himself again. 

Finally, **finally** those precious eyes cautiously rose to meet his. Regrettably, he could see the trepidation in your face and smell your fear. He hated it, despite the fact that he still subconsciously associated those things with the promise of food. 

Finally, you spoke to him, “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” He loved the sound of your voice, as he knew he would. The way your voice cracked was frankly **adorable** and reminded him how little he actually knew about you. His eye light subconsciously drifted down to where your soul would be, if he could see it. By pure chance, he noticed your nametag. Quickly, your hand shot up and covered the tag, but your name was already burned into his mind. It echoed around in his head, emblazoning itself on his very soul. He returned his gaze to your perfect face and couldn't help but murmur your name, now that he had it. It tasted so good on his tongue. He wondered how the rest of you would taste. 

The sweet scent of your fear was suddenly much more potent, and the panic in your eyes was heart wrenching. He watched the lines of your body tighten and his predator instincts told him you were right about to bolt. Without thinking, he reached a hand out to reassure you, of **course** he would never hurt you. Before he could make contact you leapt away from him, retreating to the back of the store. His soul plummeted. This confirmed it: you hadn't been walking away from him because of awkwardness, you were **terrified** of him. He hadn't even hurt you and you already hated him. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, it was like expecting a lamb to love a lion. He clenched his still outstretched hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. He'd have to try again tomorrow, maybe explain himself, even apologize for scaring you? He decided to leave you alone for now and plan out what he would say to you tomorrow. 

The next day he guarded you on your way to work but this time he shortcuted a bit ahead and camped out next to the front door. He'd wait for you outside, hopefully being outside and not in a small building will make you feel slightly more secure. He could sense you approaching and leaned back against the wall and shuttered his eye sockets. He had to will himself to look casual, he didn't want to appear as though he'd been purposefully waiting for you, although perhaps that was unavoidable. 

As soon as you stopped in front of him, his eye found its way to your face, like a magnet to metal. It looked like you had calmed significantly from yesterday's interaction. Now was his chance. He started towards you, slowly, trying to show he meant no harm. Instead, it seemed to turn you into a scared prey animal, frozen with fear. He couldn't stop now though, he just needed to explain that-

With a loud crunch, a bag of something compressed beneath his foot, startling you like a deer. Desperate to console you, he instinctively shot his arm out to catch you, which you deftly ducked and fled into the store. He couldn't give up now or you'd always think he just wanted to scare you. He had to explain! 

He entered moments after you but you'd already slipped into the back room. He'd just have to wait a bit. The lady at the register cast him a curious look but soon returned to her cleaning. Figuring he should at least pretend to be shopping, Sans wandered down the first aisle he saw. A can of something called “SpaghettiOs” caused an odd twinge of pain in his soul but he pushed it aside. He had to focus on you. Maybe you liked spaghetti too...

Shortly he realized you had been standing at the end of the aisle, watching him. He turned to face you, letting you make the first move. You didn't disappoint. With all the adorable ferocity of a puffed-up kitten, you marched right up to him. He couldn't help but feel tremendously proud of you. You were still obviously afraid but you were powering right through it and approaching him anyway. He couldn't help the wide grin that stretched across his face. He struggled to remember the last time he'd smiled so genuinely….he also hoped this wasn't regular behavior for you, as approaching dangerous beings was not a good form of self-preservation.

Once you'd stopped your approach, just out of arm's reach, your face lit up with determination. Normally that would make his marrow boil with rage but he found it to be a good look on you. You looked as radiant as your soul felt. 

“What do you want?” You…you were speaking to him! Your voice was so lovely, he could feel all the tension run out of his body. He could listen to you speak for hours. His smile softened to a look of fondness, filling his soul with light, fluffy feelings he couldn't recall ever experiencing before. 

Without thinking, he said the first thing that came to mind, “You. I want you.”... **Fuck**. That is **not** what he wanted to say. Much to his chagrin, he could see the fearful snarl on your face, the look of a scared dog trying to appear aggressive. 

“You don't even know me. If this is your method of flirting or trying to befriend me or something you're doing a horrible job. Also, I'm not interested, regardless of what you want.” Your words cut deep, and he knew you were right. He was doing this all wrong, he was fucking this up. 

But...he needed to know. He needed **you** to know, “‘m sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I… can't you feel it?” Please tell him you could feel even the smallest inkling of a connection. He needed to know. 

“Feel what? Uncomfortable and harassed? Because if so then yes, yes I can.”

Like you had punched him right in the sternum, he felt a sharp pain in his chest which mellowed into a low throbbing. You did. You hated him. But! He had to tell you, you needed to know! “You. You and I we're… **meant** to be together.” Please believe him, please understand! 

Your expression dropped, leading him to hope that you were contemplating his words. Maybe you could feel it too and just didn't understand what it meant or what to do about it! He clutched at his shirt, feeling the aching longing of his soul. You could get there, he just needed to help you along. He whispered reverently, “soulmates.”

Apparently that was the **wrong** thing to say as a look of horror dawned on your face, dashing his hopes to pieces. “You… I'm going to need you to leave, sir.” There was that fear again. That painful fear that left him reeling with regret and despair. He hated that look on your face. 

Sans could feel his entire body deflate, bogged down with the knowledge that his beloved soulmate was terrified of him and there was nothing he could do to change that. He slipped his phalanges into his empty socket and pulled, attempting to ground himself. He had to hold it together. He wouldn't give up on you. 

Just then, the small human from up front inserted herself between the two of you. He could see a bit of relief cross over your features. You trusted this pathetic human to protect you? It hurt, it hurt a lot more than he thought it would, to know you trusted this random human more than him. She started berating him, accusing him of harassing you. The only thing he could absorb was the look on your face. He didn't know what the lady had said, but something had terrified you beyond anything he'd seen so far. Whatever it was that frightened you, he was going to annihilate it. For now, however, it was apparent you needed space. His apology had been offered, and his explanation of your connection, however brief, was said. 

Just to shut the small human up, he conceded with a muttered, “alright" and left the store. He had a lot to think about. 

A week, he waited, plenty of time for you to cool off and him to formulate a plan. He'd been following you home after work as usual when you suddenly began speeding up. At first he thought something else had spooked you but pretty soon he figured that you'd spotted him. Shit.

He watched as you ducked into what looked like a small clothing store and rushed to follow. You had stopped just inside the doorway, your back to him. Seeming to steel yourself, you turned to face him. Without even realizing he'd started doing it, he felt his phalanges digging into the inside of his socket. It's fine. It's okay. He just needed to reassure you he meant no harm. 

When he murmured your name, you flinched violently and a pit of despair opened in his soul. “‘m really sorry I scared you but I **p r o m i s e** I will never do anything to hurt you.” 

He poured every ounce of honest intent he had into that sentence. Heh. A promise. Never thought he'd make one of those ever again, let alone of his own volition. If this wasn't enough to show you he meant no harm, he didn't know what else he could do. Please believe him. 

Quietly, oh so quietly you responded, “how the fuck do you expect me to trust somebody who follows me around and harasses me at work? I cannot and will not believe anything you say.”

Sans could dust right there. Heh. Hehehe of course. What made him think he could possibly hope to deserve the trust and love of somebody like you. Yes, you were soulmates, but undoubtedly you were made for the shiny, new version of him. The one with a pristine skull and witty banter to spare. The one who was friends with everyone, the one who could protect his brother…

Sans hobbled out of the store, hardly paying attention to where he was going. He needed to get away from here, away from **you** , before he did something he'd regret. He couldn't blame you, he was broken, dangerous, scary… all things that frightened his own brethren away from him. He needed some more time to think. 

It wasn't fair of him to expect a relationship out of you. He certainly didn't deserve it, after all he'd done. If… if he couldn't have you he could at least be of some value to you. Make his life mean something. Maybe, just maybe he could help you. Even if it was little, even if you never loved him, he just wanted a bit of your attention. He needed it. You made him feel whole again. Yes. He could set aside his own selfish desires for you, he could. He'd prove how useful he could be. 

Days later, he finally approached you again, just outside your apartment building. Trying to appear as small and harmless as possible, he shuffled up to you, being sure to leave plenty of personal space between you for your comfort. He shifted his gaze from where it rested on the sidewalk and met your eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. A deep sense of calm washed over him; he was doing the right thing. 

It was time to ask. “Can I walk you to and from work? It's not safe at the best of times and this is a bad neighborhood.” There, he said it. He was making himself useful to you while making it sound like you were doing **him** a favor. In a way, you were. Your mere presence was his lifeblood. 

“It's not like I can stop you anyway,” you responded dully, shrugging one shoulder. Seems like that was as good as he was going to get. Despite the minuteness of the victory, he still felt a sense of elation. Tentative permission to spend time at your side, it was all he wanted. Maybe, with time you'd even grow used to his presence. The thought made him giddy. 

The next week was a happy blur to him. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so content. He got to see you every day, twice a day, and had permission to walk by your side. It was perfect. The only thing that marred this beautiful experience was your occasional bouts of fear whenever you spotted human police. Sans knew some categories of humans were in more danger from police than others, but he wasn't sure which, if any, that you fit into. Regardless, he was more than happy to steer clear of humans in authority, so it wasn't exactly a problem. 

Things had been going so wonderfully, so, of course, something had to go terribly wrong. Sans had been walking you home from work, as usual, when you suddenly stopped outside a storefront. A human man, similar in age to you rushed out to meet you, arms wide open. Without even realizing he was doing it, Sans felt himself rumbling out a warning to the strange human. Instead of backing off as he intended, the interloper reached out his hand with a greeting. 

There was a time, way way back in Sans’ past where he would have introduced himself with a whoopee cushion and a stupid joke. There was an even more recent time where he might have intimidated the human, left him with a flesh wound and made a dark joke out of it. Now, there was no place for humor in his soul. Not when it came to you and your safety. The last time he'd allowed a human to get close to one he loved, it had ended in death. He would not allow that to happen to you. 

Glad he'd kept the cruel little gadget, Sans palmed the small rotating blade trap and grasped the human's hand. The whelp whimpered and withdrew from him, giving Sans enough room to fully insert himself between you and this human. The full weight of his gaze rested heavily on the young man, who clutched his bleeding palm and tried to catch sight of you over Sans’ shoulder. Sans shifted purposefully to hide your body behind his protectively. Nothing could get to you while he was around. 

His pride at having protected you so well was short lived as you emitted a pitiful whimper and slumped to the dirty sidewalk. Fear unlike anything he'd felt lanced through him. Was he too late? Did something already hurt you? Was it that **fucking** human who dared try to touch you? He reached out for you, ready to comfort you, to check for injuries. Instead, you screamed and scrambled away from him, desperate for his bones to never touch you. The way you cringed away was just the same as any of the pitiful humans he'd slaughtered while underground. You weren't just afraid of him, you actually thought he was going to kill you.  
It was as though he had left his own body. You hated him so much, you feared him so much. This wasn't right, you **belonged** together. Why why why…

Trapped in the swirling vortex of his thoughts, pummeling into him like surf onto rocks, he lost himself for a while. When he emerged from the depths he saw that same human… touching you. Embracing you. A torrent of rage scorched through him until he saw your face. You. You looked so happy to be embraced by this wimpy human. This was the most content he'd seen you in all the times he had watched you. The flames of his rage were doused with sour jealousy. That should be him. **He** should be comforting you. The light of your soul, slightly dimmed in your distress, was now as radiant as the sun. This human, you cared about him. And he…

He looked back up at you. You had apparently patched up your… friend while Sans had been immersed in his own self loathing. Now, now you were staring at him. Not with fear or indifference, no. With anger and hatred. You were saying something, yelling at him but he couldn't hear it over the rushing sound of his despair, roaring in his non-existent ears. 

“ **Fuck. Off.** ”

Oh. Struggling to take in oxygen he didn't even technically need, Sans staggered to his feet and fled. The heat of your gaze felt like it could turn his bones to dust within seconds. It **hurt**. It hurt more than when Paps’ soul shattered right in front of his face. 

He'd heard legends of similar things happening before. While the details were sketchy, his damaged memory retained a bit of knowledge on this. The rejection of a soulmate. At first, if it wasn't mutual, the rejected soul would experience acute pain. If not dealt with properly, the individual would fall down without fail. Things that could help keep the monster from falling down, at least temporarily: close family and friend relationships. He had neither. 

It took exactly one day for the pain of not seeing you to outweigh the fear of confronting your hatred. He figured the least he could do was guard your trips to and from work with the last of his strength. Then he could finally fade to dust and leave you alone. It was for the best. 

Surprisingly, a month passed without any sign of his soul weakening or falling down. At first he thought maybe it was some sort of fluke but sometimes it even seemed that the pain was subsiding. One evening he decided to attempt to approach you again, just to accompany you on your walk. When you didn't reject his presence, it clicked. A broken soulmate bond only ended in death when there was absolutely no concern from the party that had done the rejecting. The fact that he hadn't dusted yet **proved** that he still had a chance, however slim it may be. There was still some part of your soul that clung to his, one last connecting string that your anger didn't sever. Sans felt his smile widening; you may have convinced yourself you felt nothing for him but his continued existence proved that to be untrue. He just had to be patient. You'd get there. 

Unsurprisingly, you told him off the next morning, telling him to stay out of sight but not telling him to stop following you. While it still hurt a bit, he rallied himself with the knowledge that you still hadn't rejected him outright. That was as good as permission in his book. He wasn't even upset about it. He knew that things would come together eventually, and they did! Just… not in the way he expected. 

It had been a night like any other, although from the sour expression you shot over your shoulder he gathered you'd noticed his presence again. Oops. He hung back a bit. You weren't ready to be in his presence yet, he'd continue to respect that. For now. After letting you get a little further ahead, he continued his following. He lost line of sight when you turned a corner but he wasn't worried… until he too turned the corner and you were nowhere to be found. A quick survey of the area and a search for your soul and he located you. Why had you ducked into an alley? It wasn't a shortcut you'd ever taken before and there were no cops to avoid. 

With a heavy sense of unease, he approached the lip of the alley. What he saw there made him **lose it**. In the shadows cast by the brick walls from the nearest streetlight, he could see two **disgusting** humans had their filthy hands all over you. One even had the **audacity** to hold a knife to your tender throat. A small line of crimson trailed down your neck from where the knife point dug into your skin. Sans saw red. With a tremendous wellspring of magic, he surged forward with a ferocious growl. 

First he sent the knife careening away from your neck and into the gut of the second assailant, who stumbled away from you. Then, with a firm grip on the first’s soul, he flung them into each other with a burst of blue magic. Now, with the **dead meat** away from you, and you shielded from view, he could begin his work. Vibrating with the intensity of his magic and a rumbling growl, he approached the men. An acrid scent met his nose hole; one of the men had soiled himself. Like a rabid dog tearing into its meal, he tore each man limb from limb, spilling guts and crushing bones. Blood spurted from severed arteries and coated his skull and hands and the brick walls surrounding them. Only once they were each unrecognizable as humans did he pause in his massacre. Now that he had calmed slightly, a heavy sense of regret filled him. Not because he'd killed the men, no, they deserved worse than the mercy of death he'd given them, no. He regretted showing his rage, his power in front of you. As if you weren't already deathly afraid of him...

He was startled from his despair by the feeling of two small, fleshy arms embracing him from behind. He froze stock still, worried that he was imagining things, but no. Slowly, he turned in your arms to face you. Your face was red and wet from tears and your chest was heaving with sobs. He slowly, gently raised his hand and placed it on your head. When you didn't react negatively he tentatively started stroking your head in an attempt to comfort you. He couldn't help but notice, even through the gore on his phalanges, that your hair felt like heaven. He brushed it as best he could, mimicking the movements he'd observed furred monsters use when grooming their young. It was supposed to be soothing. He gently pulled your body into his, becoming painfully aware of how much you were trembling. He needed to get you home. 

“Want me to take ya home?” He tried to keep his voice as soft as possible, anything to keep you from realizing exactly whose arms you were huddled in. Surely it was only shock that allowed him to touch you like this. Eventually you'd crash from adrenaline, and he **needed** to have you home and safe before that happened. 

At your nod into his chest, he bent down and scooped you up, careful not to jostle you. You felt so small and frail in his arms, he couldn't tell if he was more worried about hurting you with his grip or dropping you from the height of his chest. Both thoughts made his head buzz with anxiety. 

As he completed the trek back to your apartment building he looked down to find you asleep. Intense adoration welled up inside him at the thought that you trusted him to take you home, and to fall asleep in his presence. However, now that he was across the street from your building he reluctantly acknowledged he'd have to wake you up to complete the journey. He'd already broken several of your personal boundaries (ones you knew about anyway) tonight and he didn't want to add to that. Before he could figure out a way to gently coax you awake he heard a weak, but still so sweet voice, “In my backpack, front pocket. My keys. I assume you know my apartment number?”

He was utterly flabbergasted. Surely you weren't so delusional to believe a huge, blood-soaked monster could carry a distressed human into a building without causing some sort of uproar. He voiced this concern, but you waved him off. Well. Guess he was going to your apartment. Again. With permission this time. 

Much to his surprise, and relief, you both made it to the apartment door with no incidents. Once inside he carted you off to the bathroom to get your cut cleaned up. First he removed his bloody jacket, another brave article of clothing lost to crimson stains. He'd toss it and the dead meat he left in the alley to the void. Perfect place to hide evidence. 

After cleaning and dressing your injury as best he could he picked you back up and put you to bed. Heh. Time to go take out the trash. Grabbing his ruined jacket from the bathroom sink, he headed to the front door. Luckily he could lock the deadbolt from the outside with magic so he didn't have to bother you with it. 

Before he could open the door to leave he heard you stumble out of bed. “Wait.” He stopped. Figuring you wanted to reiterate that this changed nothing between you two, he reluctantly turned to face you. When he saw the tears in your eyes, the desperation on your face confusion overtook his thoughts.

“You...you can use my shower if you want. And um borrow some clothes. I should have at least some sweats that could fit you.”

**W h a t**

“Please don't leave me.”

…you looked so ashamed to have said that. Cautiously, he approached you and tried to meet your gaze. You kept your eyes firmly on the ground. 

“I...I need you right now. Please, stay.”

You. You need him. You **need** him to stay. This was not a turn Sans had prepared for. Dazed and slightly giddy from your admission, he moved to take you up on your offer. He could deal with the clean up later. You **needed** him, after all. 

After a quick shower, he emerged to accept a small bundle of clothes from you. He noticed the way your gaze swept over his scarred bones, silently appraising him. Instead of disgust or fear, he saw only curiosity. He'd take it. 

He was pleasantly surprised that the clothes you gave him fit decently enough. The shirt was a tad snug around his barrel shaped chest but otherwise acceptable. Plus, they smelled like you...a mix of laundry soap and some sort of sweet scent you naturally emitted. Like a flower maybe? Or perhaps a spice. Regardless, the smell of you surrounding him left him completely at ease. 

After tossing his soiled clothes through a small portal to the void, he left the bathroom to check on you. You looked up when he came out and blinked to show you registered his appearance. Figuring you just wanted him there to protect you while you slept, he decided to park himself on your couch. Compared to the cement he usually rested on, the worn couch felt like heaven on his bones. He appreciated the prime location: halfway between the front door and the kitchen and blocking the only path to your room. This way he could keep a lookout for you without intruding in your personal space. He was already intruding enough on your territory and hospitality; he didn't want to push his luck. 

The feeling of your soul, just in the other room, no walls or doors separating you let him finally relax after a particularly stressful day. He longingly remembered the way you felt in his arms, soft, squishy form pressing in on his ribs. What he wouldn't give to feel that again. Eventually his thoughts wandered back to the trash that'd dared lay a finger on you. People like them were why he wanted to guard you in the first place. He absolutely **never** wanted anything like this to happen to you, but he couldn't help but admit that it probably worked out best for him. He was slightly guilty for his selfish thoughts but pushed them aside for now. You were safe and that's what mattered. 

A couple hours after you'd assumedly gone to bed, Sans found himself slumped onto your couch. He hadn't intended to become so lax in his guard duties but apparently his magic usage was finally catching up to him. He probably could use a snack as well. Before he could consider whether you'd be okay with him eating some of your food (he'd pay you back, obviously) he heard the floor creak behind him. He sat up and turned to look at you. You looked absolutely exhausted. He tilted his head in question. 

Instead of responding vocally, you collapsed on the couch next to him. Sans could feel his soul fluttering at your proximity. Before he could bring himself to break the silence, you clambered into his lap and buried your face into his chest. His soul was positively singing in joy. Your soul was so close to his, so close! As though being warmed by the sun itself he could feel the soft warmth spreading from every point of contact your body had with his. This felt right, so right. This is where you belonged. 

After a minute or so of soaking up the precious feelings, he wrapped his arms around you and lowered himself to the couch, allowing you to rest comfortably on his chest. This was perfect. It seems your soul agreed as the tension and stress seemed to melt out of you and you drifted off into sleep. He began stroking your back and running his phalanges through your hair. He wanted to enjoy this closeness while you still allowed it. He wished the two of you could stay like this forever. He loved you. He loved you so much. 

For some reason a stupid human phrase popped into his head, “if you love it, let it go". He found himself shaking with quiet, repressed laughter and whispered into your hair, “ **I don't want to**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes as well.


	3. Don't remind me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's comments are so so sweet and nice and fuel me to continue writing, so thank you so much, I appreciate each and every one!

You awoke feeling unusually warm, comfortable, and well-rested. The familiar hum of your hand-me-down fridge let you know you'd zonked out on the couch again without even having to open your eyes. The strange thing was, there was no way in hell anybody had ever had such a nice night's sleep on your shitty couch. What the fuck were you laying on? As your heartbeat picked up, the surface you were on shifted slightly and a hot gust of air ran over the crown of your head. What the fuck?!

You attempted to push yourself up on your forearms but found yourself caged in by two very firm arms. You were on top of somebody? Your eyes snapped open and locked onto the sleeping face of Sans Snowdin. Your fucking stalker. What the hell happened last night? Desperate to get away, you wiggled and struggled to try to worm your way out of his iron grip. The attempt was unsuccessful. Your entire body rose as his chest expanded with a deep inhale, and he breathed out in a low growl. Frozen in fear at the sound, you waited as he grumbled, readjusted his grip on you, and seemed to calm back down. 

Well on your way to a panic attack, you tried to focus on your breathing, slowly, counting. Don't freak out don't freak out-

The boney eyelids before your face shot open, and one dark red light dilated and focused on your face. Seeming to register your look of panic, he let out a thundering growl and flipped both of you until you were sheltered completely under his large body. His head swiveled around frantically, as if searching for a threat. When none was found he reluctantly removed himself from where he'd been hovering over you. 

In a low, subdued voice he mumbled, “sorry.” You didn’t respond. His presence in your apartment reminded you of why exactly he was here. Last night you’d almost…don’t think about it. He sat back on the couch and rubbed at his skull. “‘M gonna get outta yer hair now. Uhh...thanks for the...shower? ‘N the clothes.” He stood with a sound of creaking bones and headed towards the door. You shot to your feet.

“Wait!” He turned back to you again, face neutral. “Uh. Let me make you some breakfast first, before you go, that is. As a uh. Thank you. For last night.” His eye light dilated until it almost filled his socket. Guess that means he’s interested? 

You trotted off to the connected kitchenette, socked feet padding softly on the floor. A cursory glance at the contents of your fridge and you decided to make some scrambled eggs and bacon. You pulled out the necessary food items and utensils and got to work. While the pan was heating up you popped two pieces of bread into your ancient toaster oven. Someday that thing was gonna combust and kill you in your sleep. Hopefully your landlord could get some insurance money from that. 

Sans had followed you into the kitchenette and stood off to the side, watching you with what appeared to be sleepy fondness. Ugh. This felt way too domestic. You cracked the first egg into a bowl to whisk with milk and tossed the shell towards the sink. Before it could land, Sans’ hand shot out and snatched it out of the air. You jumped, startled by the sudden movement and quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t seem to notice your attention and proceeded to toss the shell into his mouth. This was the first time you’d seen him with his mouth completely open, he had extremely pronounced canines and you could swear you saw a flash of blue light as his jaw snapped shut. A somewhat sickening crunching sound was heard emanating from him. Presumably that was the eggshell. Deciding not to comment, you cracked the next egg, this time holding the shell out for Sans to take. He took it gingerly from your hand and repeated the process. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by those sharp canines, imagining them sinking into...no. Don’t think about it. 

The rest of the cooking proceeded similarly, any extra bits that you wouldn’t exactly consider edible were given to your new trash compactor friend. **No.** Not your friend. You couldn’t be friends with your stalker...but you **are** cooking breakfast for him. Plus he saved your hide last night. No. No, no it wasn’t right. You can’t be friends with somebody who made you feel so unsafe...but he made you feel so safe last night? Ugh, everything was so confusing. 

Your thoughts continued to wander in a similar circular manner until the scent of burning toast hit your nostrils. “Shit!” You whipped around and yanked the tray out of the toaster oven, burning your hand in the process. Yup. Charred to a crisp. So much for toast. Sans, who had started when you cursed, now was looking at the burnt toast. You gestured for him to take it, and he obliged by tossing both pieces into his maw at once and snapping it shut behind them. You blinked twice and then returned to the bacon and eggs. 

You didn’t have any sort of dining table, nor did you have the room for one, so you and Sans sat on the couch with your plates in your laps piled high with bacon and eggs. Considering his size, you’d tried to give him the larger portion but he insisted you take it. In the end you made both plates roughly equal and he reluctantly accepted this arrangement. You used your fingers to eat, too lazy to get up for utensils and too apathetic to worry about scorching your hand on the hot food. Sans, in comparison, simply tipped the entire plate into his gaping mouth and shoveled it all in in one go. After he finished his mouthful, he proceeded to lick his plate clean. When he was done he looked up at you. You’d been staring at him as he put all that food away. After a moment you blinked, looked down, and returned to your own plate. Seeing as you weren’t a terribly big breakfast eater, you were full long before you finished your plate. You looked back up at Sans, not surprised to see him watching you intently. “Uh. I’m done with this, you want-”

Before you’d finished the sentence he’d grabbed the plate from your lap and shoveled its contents into his mouth. Well then. After he’d licked that plate clean too (this time you noticed for sure he had a blue, glowing tongue, holy shit!) you took both empty plates and set them in the sink. By the time you turned back around he’d stood up and was hesitating by the door. With an awkward inclination of his head, he ducked out and disappeared down the hall. You let out a deep breath. What the hell was your life?

Since you’d actually gotten decent sleep the night before, you figured you didn’t need to call into work like you’d thought you might. As for how the fuck you slept so well in the arms of your **stalker** , you didn’t know. You took a quick shower, relieved to find no traces of blood or bloody clothes left behind, and got dressed for work. 

You didn’t notice Sans’ presence on the way to work, maybe he’d had his fill of you for the day. Ha. It ended up being a completely uneventful shift and as you slipped out the door in the early afternoon, you noticed Sans waiting for you just outside the store. He still had on the sweats and shirt you gave him but now he had a new blue sweatshirt over the top. Guess he’d had to toss his old one. No way could he get that amount of blood out of it. 

As peeved as you were at your own decision to allow his presence at your side, you really didn’t want a repeat of the night before. You’d accept his protection, at the very least. You didn’t have to like it though. On your path home, you skirted the alley you’d been grabbed in, only to turn around when there was a cop car parked around the corner. Sans was watching you intently again. It looked like he might actually ask you about it. 

“Why do ya always avoid the human police?” Ha. You were right. Of course. As you contemplated how to answer him, memories and unwelcome thoughts squirmed in your stomach, making you slightly nauseous. You frowned and clutched the straps of your backpack. 

“Ya don’t have to tell me if it makes ya uncomfortable.”

You mulled his comment over in silence. Seems like he would actually drop it if you wanted him to. What the hell, what could it hurt? He'd already seen you at some pretty low points, it'd probably be impossible to scare him off at this juncture. 

“I… used to be hurt a lot by this guy. He uh, worked in the police department. So, any time I tried to call for help, his buddies would just laugh and ignore me. Sometimes… they even… joined in.” Your eyes started to tear up but you blinked them away. “He kept trying to control me: isolating me from my friends, telling me what I could and couldn't do, claiming he… owned me. It. It was a lot.” Oof. You had said a bit more than you meant to and Sans had been unsettlingly quiet throughout your explanation. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, only to feel a wave of radiation pulse off of him. It felt like a mix of heat from a fire and static electricity. His one eye looked as though it was flaming, wisps of blue magic sparking off of it like a live wire. He looked **pissed**. “Uhh, Sans?” you squeaked, terrified by his expression. 

“ **Where is he.** ” It wasn't a question. He wasn't asking. 

“I-I don’t know! I ran away two years ago and haven’t looked back.” You shrunk in on yourself, the skeleton looked like he was about to tear somebody’s head off. Maybe…”S-sans? You’re scaring me…” you trailed off, hoping it wouldn’t add to his ire. 

To your immense relief, he immediately calmed down to less of a murdery look and more of a frustrated look. He rolled his shoulders and let out a sigh. “Sorry. Just wish ya’d introduce me, I’d give ‘em the same treatment as the dead meat from last night.” A wicked, hungry grin curled on his face at that, and you shuddered. 

“No, Sans, I’m not gonna let you go kill off all my old exes.” You rolled your eyes, finally starting to get a feel for his moods. It didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt you, as he’d said before. When you turned to give him a wry smile, you noticed the fact that his one eye light was gone. Damn that’s a creepy look. Feeling a bit bold, you nudged him with your elbow, “C’mon dude, that was a joke. Yanno? You’re supposed to laugh?”

He didn’t seem to think it was funny if his angry scowl was any indication. At least it was aimed at the sidewalk and not you. “...how many partners have ya had?” His hand rose up to tug on his eye socket again. Uh-oh. Was he...jealous? The thought made you sick to your stomach. **He** had been a very jealous person, even before you started dating seriously. Sans wouldn’t be like that, would he?

“Um, dude, that’s not really any of your business to be honest.” You shrugged, leaning away from him slightly to gage his reaction. All these comparisons to your abusive ex were really starting to make you uncomfortable again. Wait. At what point did you even start feeling comfortable around Sans? Just yesterday you’d screamed at him to stay away from you. And then you...slept on his chest. Fuck. Your brain was all over the place. 

Sans stopped suddenly and harshly whispered, “the hell it’s not.” He seemed to be grinding his teeth in addition to the pulling at his socket. You weren’t even sure he meant for you to hear that. A moment later and he was gone. Just. Poof. He disappeared into thin air with a vague feeling of static. What the hell? Whatever, either you really had lost it and had been hallucinating a skeleton stalker for a good two months or he had some sort of bullshit magic teleporting powers. Considering how little was known about monster magic, that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. 

You were only a block away from home when a cop stepped out of a shopfront and turned to notice you. You froze. Despite the fact that logic was telling you this was a different city, a different district, that there was no way this cop was connected to **him** , your foolish lizard brain was insisting you were about to be punished. This man was going to drag you back and then you were going to be **sorry**. Sorry you ever tried to escape from **him**. You willed yourself to turn around and walk the other way, but the cop was already approaching you. 

Your panic cemented your feet to the sidewalk. The cop held out his hand, giving his name and asked if you had a moment to answer some questions. You couldn't say no. **He** taught you to be obedient. You couldn't say no, you couldn’t. You shakily extended your hand and tried not to flinch when your skin made contact with his rough palms. Shit. Pay attention. Listen. Answer his questions and then you can go! You can run and run and hide where you'll never be found. 

“So, I want you to take a look at these two photographs.” The cop held up two glossy photos for you to see. Oh no. Oh no no no no. It was the men who'd assaulted you. The ones Sans had killed. How were they already reported missing?! It was only last night, there's no way! You tried to calm your rapid heartbeat, the cop was still talking, “last night these two men robbed a liquor store in this area. We're looking for any leads to their whereabouts. Do you recognize either of them?” Oh thank fuck. They hadn't been reported missing yet, they were just wanted. Still. You couldn't lie. There was security footage at work of them harassing you. Fuck. You had to tell him. You couldn't afford to be found out. 

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. When prompted, you gave a description of when and where you'd seen them last and any other details you remembered, excluding the events of the alley encounter. After directing the cop to your work address and texting your boss to get the security footage ready, the cop thanked you for your time, took down your name and number, and walked off. Hopefully none of this would ever get traced back to you or Sans. 

Speak of the devil… there the skeleton was, apparently he had been watching your exchange with the officer from just down the street, but now it appeared he was being questioned as well. Mustering up all your courage, you jogged over to where the two were standing, just in time to hear the cop say, “-ports that there's a skeleton monster living on the streets? I'm assuming that's you?” What? Sans is living on the streets? Why?! Wasn't the government supposed to be supplying everything the monsters needed in order to keep them pacified? 

You found yourself zoning out as the cop gave Sans a stern talking-to and insisted he found a place to stay. Sans stood silently the entire time, only acknowledging the cop's words with a short grunt. He looked extremely uncomfortable and kept shifting from foot to foot. From the way his hand kept clenching and unclenching at his side, it was clear he was trying to avoid tugging on his socket. Or maybe strangling the man. It was hard to tell. 

After the cop had walked away from Sans, you came up and tentatively touched his arm to gain his attention. He glanced down at where your hand had made contact and then looked to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “What was that cop saying about you not having a place to stay?” You withdrew your hand and noticed that the skeleton’s own hand twitched, as though to capture yours in its hold. Instead, he tucked both his hands into his jacket pockets, presumably to avoid the temptation. 

Sans shrugged to your question, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he was homeless. Something in your chest was tugging at your conscience. You couldn’t let him live on the streets, you just couldn’t. Somehow this skeleton had melted some of the ice around your heart and you felt nearly obligated to offer him a place to crash though you knew you may regret that decision. He’d slept on your couch the night before, so what could it hurt? 

“Sans, uh. Listen, if you need temporary shelter, you can just stay on my couch for a couple days. If you pitch in some money for groceries we can even share meals if you like, I don’t mind cooking so much.” For some reason you felt your cheeks heating up. Blushing. You were blushing! Oh man what was this stupid skeleton doing to you? You weren’t even doing anything that weird, just offering an...acquaintance a place to stay while he presumably found his own place. Not a big deal!

Said skeleton was now staring you down like you had grown another head, causing your blush to deepen. You fiddled with your fingers and waited for his response. After what felt like a decade in embarrassment-time he finally responded with a nod. His eye light had once again expanded to fill his socket...and...it was an upside-down heart again! For sure this time, there was no way you were imagining it. Intrigued, you leaned closer to get a better look at his eye. It took you a moment, but when you realized you were encroaching on Sans’ personal space you straightened immediately and again flushed slightly. Sheepishly looking up at his face, you noticed small, blue droplets of moisture rolling down his skull. Was he sweating? Somehow, the idea of the skeleton sweating from nervousness was incredibly amusing and slightly adorable to you. Your opinion of him had changed a lot in a short period of time. It seems that was a trend that would continue, proven in the days to come. 

As it turns out, having a magical, teleporting skeleton monster as a roommate was extremely convenient. You'd been making stir fry and rice for the both of you, that first night you'd invited him to live with you. You reached into your tiny pantry for where you kept your soy sauce, only to discover it was nearly empty. That wouldn't do! You couldn't have stir fry without soy sauce! You turned to where Sans was standing, watching you intently while you cooked. When you explained that you needed to run out real quick to pick up some stuff from the store, he insisted he'd handle it. 

Short list of groceries in hand, he did his weird disappearing act again and appeared back in the kitchenette approximately fifteen minutes later. When you asked him how much you owed him, he waved you off and reminded you that he'd promised to chip in for groceries. Well. It was hard to argue with that. 

From that night onward, the two of you slipped into a new routine. He'd still walk you to work every morning, and home every evening. He was in charge of picking up groceries, and you cooked most of the meals. You were actually beginning to enjoy his company. He was still quiet most of the time but occasionally he'd make an offhand comment about something that'd make you snort with laughter. Every time he got you to laugh, his usual grin seemed to transform his rather intimidating face into an adorably proud expression. 

While things were mostly okay, you still had problems with his overprotectiveness and aggression towards strangers. While he mostly seemed to be trying to regulate his possessive impulses, he still slipped up every once in a while, making you extremely uncomfortable. Eventually, you came to the conclusion that you'd have to give him some lessons on human societal norms, and lay down some firm rules and boundaries. You started with some basic roommate etiquette. Your room was deemed off limits, since he didn't need to use the bathroom (boy were you jealous) and you wanted at least some semblance of privacy. You made an exception for when he needed to shower, but it turns out that he didn't do that very often anyway. 

As you tended to be lazy when it came to washing dishes (oh what you wouldn't give for a dishwasher), he began to take over cleaning the kitchenette. At one point you'd watched him collect all the crumbs off the counter, and instead of tossing them like most would, he just popped them in his mouth. You also caught him cleaning spills and stains with his tongue. When you asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, he just shrugged and continued where he left off. Well, as long as he wiped down everything afterwards, you didn't see any problem with this. You did make a point to cook larger proportions for him, just in case he wasn't getting enough food and was too awkward to ask for more. He always finished everything, even your plate once you were done. 

It had been a while since you'd regularly cooked for someone beyond yourself; you didn't realize how much you missed it. It used to be one of your favorite hobbies before **he** sucked the joy out of your life. It was satisfying to have somebody to enjoy meals with; you'd been getting lonely. 

As part of Sans’ social learning curriculum, you started introducing him to your local acquaintances. This included the two men who owned the laundromat together, the old man who ran the thrift store, and your manager. He'd really dragged his feet about it but you insisted he needed to learn how to interact positively with other people. You told him that only having one point of social contact (aka you) wasn't enough for him. He heartily disagreed but went along with what you said anyway. Turns out he'd do just about anything you'd ask of him, short of dropping his obsession with you. You tried not to abuse that power. 

When you'd introduced him to your manager, she'd seemed slightly confused and concerned but once you'd explained that the two of you had become…”friends" she dropped her questioning. She really tried not to pry into your life, knowing how private you were. Sans had been mostly standoffish, but he only growled at her once, when she'd touched your arm, so you considered it a mixed success. He'd actually gotten along okay with the thrift shop owner; turns out he was also fluent in sign language. Apparently there were quite a bit of monsters who could only communicate with non-verbal methods, so sign was a must underground. When the old man discovered that Sans only had one outfit, he insisted that the two of you pick out some extras. When you'd tried to pay him, he waved you away and shuffled off to make tea. Sans thoroughly inspected and sniffed your cup before he allowed you to drink it in peace. 

Satisfied with the lack of violence, you decided to reward him with his choice of meal. With Sans’ government card to help with groceries and living expenses, you had a bit of extra cash saved up, just enough for a modest night out for dinner. When you asked him to pick a restaurant, he deferred to you. When you insisted he pick, he surprised you by picking a local burger place. With his love of meat, you sort of expected him to pick a steakhouse or something. Well, it **had** been a while since you’d gotten a good burger, so why the heck not. 

You and your skeletal companion got a small booth in the back of the diner, it made both of you feel more secure to be slightly hidden from view. After the waiter had taken both your drink and food orders, you decided to finally broach a rather...difficult topic. 

“Sans. Can I talk to you about something?” He looked up from where he’d been fiddling with a sugar packet and hummed to let you know he was listening. With a deep breath, you continued, “I know one of the first times we talked, you said something about...soulmates?” As soon as the word “soulmates” left your mouth, he stiffened and his attention was suddenly laser-focused on you. “Well, I just wanted to...well. I uh, don’t really know how to explain this properly.” He waited patiently for you to gather your thoughts. After a moment of contemplation, you continued, “uh, well, I just wanted you to know that I’ve kinda gotten used to your presence in my life, and I’m actually surprised I’m able to admit I consider you to be a friend, despite the rather rocky start we had. As somebody who struggles with trauma and mental illness, I sort of gathered that you’ve had some shit happen to you. Between the way you act and what I know about what happened underground, I can safely assume that you’ve got some issues of your own. I suppose the fact that we first saw each other at a psychiatry office was a pretty good indicator too.” You let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Well, anyway, I just find myself caring about whether or not you have a good quality of life. I tend to keep people I know at arm’s length, especially since I escaped from h- I mean, my ex. He had a way of putting a wedge between me and those I cared about. Pretty much everybody I’ve ever loved has written me off because of that time in my life. The only one who ever tried to stay in contact was one of my best friends, coincidentally, it was the guy you stabbed in the hand.” You glared at him, and he at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish. “I still need to get you to apologize properly to him. You really fucked up his hand, you know.” Sans growled and grumbled something under his breath you didn’t quite catch. You let it slide. 

“Anyway, what I need you to understand is that if you want to continue to be my friend, there are some things that I need from you. It’s fine if you have romantic feelings for me or whatever, just don’t expect me to reciprocate them.” He shifted in his seat slightly but didn’t otherwise react. The waiter stopped by just then, setting your drinks down and bustling off again. You heard the beginnings of a growl rumble through the table from Sans, and you nudged him with your foot. “Hey, none of that. See, that’s another thing I want to talk about. I sort of get that you’re trying to protect me or whatever but people like that waiter, or my friend? They aren’t gonna hurt me. The way you bristle and try to scare off other people really reminds me of my ex, which is not a good look for you.” You felt a slight twinge of guilt when you saw the kicked-puppy look in Sans’ eye light, but you knew this was something that needed to be said, something he needed to understand. “Being protective of somebody you care about is one thing, but trying to control them by keeping others away from them, even in the name of protection, is **not** healthy. I sort of get where you’re coming from, especially after what happened that one night...but really. I want to trust you, I really do. I just...can’t be around somebody who’s going to act so possessive. It makes me feel trapped, it makes me feel like an item to be owned, not a person with autonomy. Do you understand?” 

Sans had a faraway look in his eye as he presumably digested what you’d told him. You were made a bit anxious by his lack of response, but tried to hold back your impatience to let him gather his thoughts. You had dropped quite a bit of information on him. Eventually, his eye came back into focus and met your gaze. He nodded a bit, and murmured, “...sorry. I uh. I sometimes have a hard time with my instincts, ya know? It’s a compulsion, I see a potential hazard, and I react. Underground, there was no room for benefit of the doubt, yanno?” You nodded, it made sense. “I understand ‘f that’s not really a proper excuse, but I will try to be better. I really...I really don’t want to lose ya…” He trailed off at the end and went back to that faraway look. Deciding to give him a moment, you turned to watch the waiter, who was just now returning with a platter full of food. The burgers looked absolutely delicious. All in all, it was a good meal, a good talk, and a wonderful night with your stalker-turned-friend/roommate. 

Of course, with your shit luck, nothing could stay good for long...

Sans had been living with you for about a month when shit finally hit the fan. You were busy in the kitchenette, gathering ingredients for dinner. You were craving spaghetti, so that’s what you wanted to make. You turned to Sans, who was sitting on the couch, folding laundry (since you were too lazy to do it), and asked, “Hey can you shortcut me to the grocery store? I need to pick up some tomatoes for dinner tonight. I’m making spaghetti~”

In the blink of an eye, he was in your space, he must have teleported from the couch. He crowded you back against the counter, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “ **N O** ” His voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, it rattled the window panes and vibrated uncomfortably in your ears. It had been a long time since you’d felt any fear of him but now it all came rushing back. You knew how strong he was, you’d seen the aftermath of his rage on a human body. He raised one shaking hand, and you flinched away from him, squeezing your eyes shut. Instead of delivering a blow, he cupped the side of your face gently and let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I just meant I’d go to the store, you **stay here**.” His thumb swept over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, “ **promise me** you’ll stay here until I get back.” His gaze was so intense, so serious. It made your stomach churn. 

Frightened and confused, you timidly nodded your head. You had no idea what had just set him off but you really didn’t want to test his patience when he was like this. With a nod and a grunt of acknowledgement, he stepped back from you and into a portal. Weak with relief, you collapsed to the floor. What the hell was **that**?! He’d never tried to intimidate you in that way before, it was utterly terrifying. You’re surprised you didn’t scream or lose control of your bowels. Deciding a nap was in order, to assuage some of the anxiety that was still rushing through you, you turned off the heat on the pot for boiling water and retreated to your bedroom. Sans would wake you up when he got back and then you could finish making dinner. Hopefully he’ll have cooled off by then. 

You were awoken from your nap by the sound of the door banging open. That was weird, Sans always made sure to be quiet, and he never used the front door. As the haze of sleep slowly lifted from your brain, it occured to you that there was no way that was Sans. Terror unlike any other flooded your system, and you scrambled off your bed and ran for the bathroom. You slammed the door shut and locked it behind you. Sliding down the wall to sit on the cold, tile floor, you buried your face in your hands, trying to muffle your harsh breathing. Not a moment later, you heard the sound of a deep voice and the crash of your bedroom door slamming open into your dresser. The voice was much clearer now, and the sound of it caused your throat to close up with fear. **He** was here. Here to take you away. To punish you. As heavy footsteps stomped closer to your hiding place, you felt yourself dissociating, going catatonic with fear. The last thing you remembered before you passed out was the furious face of **him** , the man you’d been hiding from for two years. You’d been found....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes as well.


	4. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post early, since I finished it yesterday and I'm impatient and thirsty for attention. 
> 
> Also, I have a question for y'all: would you rather I just post chapters as soon as I finish them, or would you prefer I keep an even pace and make sure there's at least one chapter per week? I get super impatient and want to post things as soon as they're done but I'm worried I'll get too excited and then suddenly I won't have any buffer writing left and get overwhelmed. Idk I'm a mess, validate me.

Sans had **never** slept so soundly before. He fell asleep without any tossing or turning or getting up to pace restlessly. He wasn’t awoken prematurely by nightmares or twinges of pain from his head. It was just peaceful, wonderful sleep. 

Actually, instead of a nightmare, he was enjoying a rather pleasant dream. In his arms was the most important thing in the world, it didn’t have a visual form, but he could still feel its weight and presence in his hold. It exuded a radiant light that calmed his fears and doused his anger. The madness was kept at bay, chased away by the illumination of this precious thing. Sans sighed happily, content to just exist with this presence. Suddenly, the thing in his arms started pulsing, an action he somehow was able to recognise as fear, what was scaring it?! Something **yanked** at the thing in his arms, attempting to take it from him. He growled, warning away anyone who’d dare try to take the light from him, but the light’s fear just grew stronger. He tried to murmur sweet reassurance, that he’d protect it with his life, and hugged it more securely to his chest. Nobody was taking his light away from him...

And suddenly he was awake, staring right into your face. The face of his precious soulmate...which was contorted with fear. Something was frightening you, he would **d e s t r o y** it. He let out his most fearsome growl and rolled you under himself protectively. He scanned the room, searching for the source of your fear. When none became apparent, it occurred to him that he might be the cause of your fear. His soul sank at the realization, and he clambered off of you, and backed up to give you some space. 

He’d fucked up again… “sorry.” When you didn’t acknowledge his apology, he shrunk in on himself and began rubbing the back of his skull. He needed to get out of here before he fucked up even more. He needed to go take out the trash anyway… “‘M gonna get outta yer hair now. Uhh...thanks for the...shower? ‘N the clothes.” Yes, the clothes. At least he’d be able to keep them, as you’d insisted last night. After a night of you laying on his chest, they smelled even more strongly of you than before, which raised his spirits slightly. He shambled off to the door, prepared to do some quick clean-up before he could go back to his alley to continue his vigil over your dwelling. Before he could leave, you mirrored the events of last night by shouting, “Wait!” 

His soul dropped even lower. For sure you were about to tell him he needed to stay the fuck away from you, that you hated him, that he was creepy and disgusting and horrible and **wrong**. He schooled his expression so his anguish wouldn’t show, ready to face your anger. “Uh. Let me make you some breakfast first, before you go, that is. As a uh. Thank you. For last night.”

You...wanted to thank him? You wanted to share **your** food with him?! He was so elated, he could have cried with relief. Instead he settled for following you to the kitchen to watch you cook. He could take care of the trash later. He watched you bustle around, content to see you look so comfortable in his presence. Perhaps he was growing on you after all? Shit, he certainly hoped so. 

As he watched you crack the first egg, it occurred to him that you were about to discard the shells. Underground, the entire egg was used, especially in the skeleton household. The shells were an excellent source of calcium, after all. He snatched them out of the air and tossed them into his mouth. Heh. You learned fast...as you cracked the second egg, you handed the shells to him directly. Oh how he loved you. While it still sort of pissed him off that you had been about to waste food, it occurred to him that humans probably couldn’t digest certain things as well as monsters could, as they didn’t have the benefit of magic. 

“Shit!” You wrenched the small, metal tray out of your toaster oven, to reveal two blackened pieces of toast. You probably wouldn’t want to eat them. Before he could ask to have them, you motioned for him to go ahead and take them. He gladly snatched them up. Sort of reminded him of the way Pap’s spaghetti used to taste, before everything went to shit and he had to learn to cook properly. No, don’t think about Pap. He had you to think about now, his bro would understand. 

Once you’d finished preparing the food, you piled two plates high. One had a good amount more than the other. When you tried to give him the larger portion, he just barely restrained himself from snarling at you. You came first, you needed the food more, he’d be fine. In the end, you just evened out the amount on the two plates, much to his displeasure. 

Once seated on the couch together, Sans proceeded to devour the food. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of it, but the kindness and love you had for cooking translated excellently. He had no doubt this could restore any monster to full HP with the sheer positive intent. A little embarrassed that he’d finished eating before you’d really even started, he waited patiently for you to finish your meal. He was starting to get antsy, he really needed to remove all traces that the two of you were in that alley last night. You got about a third of the way through your plate when you started slowing down. Sans was about to protest, insisting you needed more, when he remembered that humans actually had a limit on what they could physically store in their stomachs. Monsters, especially skeleton monsters like himself had next to no restrictions for what they could eat. You looked up at him and said, “Uh. I’m done with this, you want-” 

Before you could finish your sentence, he took the plate and demolished the last of the food, making sure to pick up every last crumb. It was bad enough to waste any food, but to waste food that you’d specifically prepared for him and yourself was an unforgivable sin. 

Welp. He'd overstayed his welcome, it was time to go run some errands. With a quick nod to let you know he was leaving, he ducked out and took a shortcut down the road a ways. Normally he wouldn't waste so much magic, but the combination of spending hours with you and eating food you made had filled his reserves fit to bursting. 

First order of business was murder scene cleanup. When he reached the mouth of the alley and saw the mess he made in the light of day, he almost wished he was back underground with starving monsters to clean up any excess gore. This was going to be a pain. Using magic to gather up as much of the fabric, flesh, and guts as possible, he then opened a portal to the void and flung it in. There was obviously still a lot of dried blood covering the bricks and concrete but short of a hose or heavy rainfall there wasn't much to be done about it. At least blood dried brown, much less conspicuous than the crimson of fresh blood. 

Deeming the job passable, Sans returned to his spot outside your building, just in time to escort you to work. He decided to stay unnoticed for now, to give you a chance to have an illusion of distance from him. He knew he'd already pushed his luck with you recently and he didn't want to try your patience further. After you'd safely made the walk, he headed off to that store he'd talked to you in that one time. The bell on the door tinkled cheerily as he pushed his way inside. He needed a jacket to replace his old blue one, which now rested somewhere in the void, soaked in blood. The man at the front counter watched him intently as he made his way through the racks of clothes, hoping to find something suitably large for his own comfort. As much as he appreciated the shirt you'd given him, it was only a matter of time before it ripped. It was just slightly too tight and was bound to get snagged on one of his jagged, chipped bones at some point. He wanted to avoid that problem with his new purchase. 

Eventually he found a coat that suited his needs and tastes well enough, and proceeded to check out. The man moved from where he'd been perched on a stool to stand behind the cash register, indicating for Sans to present his items. Much to his surprise, the old man began moving his arms and hands in practiced motions. Something in the back of his skull tickled slightly, and he realized he learned this method of communication before. Sans signed a quick acknowledgement and pulled out his government card. After the man had entered the price and asked for payment, he gestured for Sans to wait a moment before leaving. He explained that he wanted to talk to him about **you**. Immediately, Sans tensed, apprehensive.

The old man explained that you were a good kid, and well-liked by people in this area. You were kind, you were polite, and you minded your own business. Sans was heavily confused as to where this was going, and slightly angry at the thought of a bunch of people paying such close attention to you. Seeing his confusion, the old man decided to lay it out for him: if he hurt a hair on your head, he'd have a large mob of angry humans to deal with. Sans initially balked at this, the mere idea of harming you was utterly reprehensible to him. Then, it occurred to him that you actually had a small network of people who cared about you, who would defend you. Although he felt a bit jealous that you were so loved by others, he appreciated that he wasn't the only one who had your back. 

With a grin that could rival a devil's, Sans revealed he'd rather die than harm you. Something about telling somebody that immutable fact made his soul swell with pride and love. He liked it when people knew how important you were to him, it turned out. Interesting. The old man gave a curt nod and told the skeleton to get the hell out of his store, but Sans didn't miss the slight humor in the man's face as he signed the dismissal. Huh. Seems like he might have made a friend. How about that. 

Once back in the daylight outside, Sans popped the small tag off his new jacket and pulled it on. It had nice deep pockets and was only a shade off from his old one. It would suit his needs just fine. 

Errands complete, it was time for him to wait until you left work to walk you home. He waited for you by the front door and was pleased when you allowed him to walk with you. Along the way, you very overtly avoided the alley you'd been attacked in the night before and then had to backtrack to avoid a police car. The curiosity was killing him, he had to know. He wanted to know everything about you. 

“Why do ya always avoid the human police?” He regretted his question immediately when he saw how distressed thinking about it made you. “Ya don’t have to tell me if it makes ya uncomfortable.” His curiosity was less important than your comfort, always….unless it was about a threat to your safety. 

He fell silent, letting you decide whether or not to talk about it. His patience was rewarded with information. 

“I… used to be hurt a lot by this guy. He uh, worked in the police department. So, any time I tried to call for help, his buddies would just laugh and ignore me. Sometimes… they even… joined in.” 

Sans felt his phalanges twitch, his teeth ground together, and his magic started roiling angrily. No fucking wonder you were afraid of police, if that's what had happened to you… now, that man you spoke of… he’d wish he was dead by the time Sans was through with him. He hastily wrangled his urge to act now, to **kill**. When his gaze returned to your face, he noticed your eyes shining with unshed tears. He was gonna skin that fucker **alive** and boil him in salt water. It's too bad humans couldn't be healed as easily as monsters, it'd be much more convenient if he could stuff a spider donut in his face so he could torture him again and again and again-

“He kept trying to control me: isolating me from my friends, telling me what I could and couldn't do, claiming he… owned me. It. It was a lot.” 

Oh he was going to give this human a very very bad time, once he figured out where the fuck to find him. Break every bone in his body, leave cuts on his torso and let insects and wild animals eat at his exposed flesh. Maybe rip off his nails, apparently that was very painful for humans. Oh, Sans had some ideas. He needed to know now, he was going to implode with the amount of rage and magic he was building up. He needed an outlet, and fast. 

“ **Where is he.** ” 

“I-I don’t know! I ran away two years ago and haven’t looked back...S-sans? You’re scaring me…” 

Right right. Now was not the time to be freaking out his human. Sans rolled his shoulders to release the tension and eased the death grip on his rage. Not the time. 

“Sorry. Just wish ya’d introduce me, I’d give ‘em the same treatment as the dead meat from last night.” That was a little white lie, the two humans he'd pulverized had practically been softly sung to sleep compared to the way he planned to put down this human that'd hurt you. 

“No, Sans, I’m not gonna let you go kill off all my old exes.” You rolled your eyes at him, trying to make a joke out of it, but Sans fixated on one word. Exes. Plural. How many **unworthy** humans had dared to touch what was his?! Thoughts of countless faceless people, all touching your soft, fragile body, taking carnal pleasure in it paraded around his mind until he thought his head might burst. His eye light extinguished, and his teeth were pulled into a furious scowl. You elbowed him jovially and he just barely stopped the instinct to snarl at the contact. He was too fixated on how many others had desecrated you, who had presumed to deserve your love, your companionship. There was nobody that could ever be good enough to deserve you. 

He needed to make sure they **all** understood, there would be no contest. He'd learned in the underground: take out the competition. And he would. But first he needed to know **exactly** how many unfortunate humans he'd need to visit his wrath on. 

“...how many partners have ya had?” His hand rose up to tug on his eye socket, unbearably sick to his stomach with thoughts that you may have cared for these other humans. He couldn't have that. 

“Um, dude, that’s not really any of your business to be honest.” Your harshly spoken words cut through his anxieties and fed right back into the rage he'd been suppressing. Not his business!? Not his business!! The hell it's not! 

Sans was going to snap, he needed to get away from you, **now**. He took a shortcut to the first place he could think of, which just so happened to be the alley across from your apartment complex. He let his restrained magic surge, flowing out and filling the space with an unearthly, red light. His rage fueled his magic directly, and he barely managed to focus it enough to dissipate harmlessly into the atmosphere. Eventually the red magic dimmed back to his natural blue magic, and the dumpsters he'd been unconsciously levitating were lowered back down. Now calm enough to continue escorting you home, he started backtracking in order to run into you on your way. 

Eventually he found you. You were stopped on the sidewalk, visibly uncomfortable, talking to a police officer. Memories of what you'd said about police joining in on your abuser’s mistreatment of you urged him to liberate the officer's head from his body. But no. It was broad daylight. He couldn't, not here. If this was one of the people who'd hurt you, Sans would take care of him in due time. 

After a few minutes, it seemed the officer was done speaking with you, and Sans went to join you. Before he could however, the officer's face lit up with recognition as he made eye contact. The human approached him, not an ounce of fear or apprehension on his face. How refreshing… and annoying. As he was engaged in interaction with the human, he noticed you were tentatively approaching, presumably to listen to the conversation. 

Oh wait. Maybe he should be listening to the officer. Couldn't afford to get in trouble with law enforcement. The thought of Toriel having to bail him out for being rude to human police was enough to focus his attention on the man's words. Oh. It seems as though somebody had seen him sleeping in the alley… and reported him? Well shit. He didn't exactly want to give up his prime location of being right across the street from you but he also really didn't want any trouble from the law. Fuck. The human was actually being surprisingly understanding but was still a bit condescending when it came to his insistence that Sans find a more “appropriate" dwelling. 

After what felt like a lifetime of scolding, Sans was finally freed from the interaction. A moment later you came up to him and touched his arm. Welp. Now you knew. 

“What was that cop saying about you not having a place to stay?” As you removed your hand from his arm he had to fight the urge to grasp it in his own. He didn't want to break that point of contact, as small as it was. It made him feel real. Tamping down his disappointment, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets instead. Someday maybe, you would be happy to hold onto his hand. 

Oh, right, you'd asked him a question. Sensing a surprising amount of worry from you, he did his best to portray how little it bothered him to live on the streets with a casual shrug. As sweet as it was, he really didn't need you worrying about him when you should be focusing on your own safety. 

“Sans, uh. Listen, if you need temporary shelter, you can just stay on my couch for a couple days. If you pitch in some money for groceries we can even share meals if you like, I don’t mind cooking so much.” 

… an offering to share food and sleep in your home? In monster terms that was practically a marriage proposal! Of course he knew you didn't know that but his long- neglected soul was keening pitifully in longing. As if he needed a bonus to this development, he saw the apples of your cheeks heating up, the blood beneath the surface rushing, gathering, tinging the lovely color of your skin with muted pink. He wanted to lick that blush, to feel the warmth of your blood beneath your skin. So warm, so sweet….

Oh. He never responded to your offer, he'd just been standing here staring at your face like an idiot. He slowly nodded his head to accept the invitation, too afraid that if he used his words he'd say something unbearably creepy and cause you to rescind your offer. He felt warmth fill his soul as a small smile tentatively crept into your face… he wanted to lick that smile almost as much as your blush...aaand you were leaning into his face. Eyes intently studying his one good socket, you hadn't even registered how close you'd gotten to him. Sans could feel sweat beading on his skull and used every ounce of willpower to stop himself from closing the distance between your faces. After a moment of sheer, blissful torture, you finally withdrew from his space. 

Living with you was sure to test his restraint in the most painful ways. And oh stars it did. Returning to your apartment, he was greeted with the full force of your scent, slightly mingled with his from the brief time he'd spent there before. He did his best to breathe shallowly, figuring that sudden deep breathing and snuffling would be unnerving for you. Oh but how wonderful it smelled, he wanted to tangle his body with yours so thoroughly that you'd never lose the marker of his scent.

Luckily, you soon distracted him with a rundown of the amenities of your home and got him set up on the couch. Sans was in heaven: you'd shoved a pile of blankets and pillows into his arms, and they all smelled overwhelmingly of you. Once you'd turned around, he shoved his face into the bundle and breathed in. His soul tingled pleasantly at the sensation of phantom lungs filling with your essence. Oh. He was being weird again, wasn't he? With great restraint, he removed himself from the pile of soft things and dropped them onto the couch. While he made himself the beginnings of a nest on the couch, you had started on an early dinner, to ‘celebrate’. Your sudden enthusiasm for his presence was as adorable as it was confusing. As he watched you cook, however, he realized what it was: you loved cooking for others, sharing your hard work and pouring your love into it. He'd noticed it this morning with the breakfast you made but it seemed you were even more excited this time. Exactly how lonely were you? 

As the sounds and smells of simmering vegetables filled the small apartment, you turned to him and explained that you needed to pick up some things from the grocery store. He could tell from your slight pout that you weren't happy to have your cooking flow interrupted. Heh, it was adorable, but also, he had a solution. He asked you to make a list of everything you needed, insisting he could handle it. With the list in hand, he took a shortcut down to your workplace. For once, somebody besides you or that small human woman (your manager?) was working. It seemed to be another young adult. Sans did his best to quickly gather everything you'd asked for and returned to the front counter to pay. The human eyed him boredly, blowing a small bubble with their gum and read off his total. He paid with his card and stalked out of the store, the gaze of the human still on his back. 

He returned to you, eager to be in your presence once more. You tried to pay him for the groceries, and he held in a growl at your stubbornness. Eventually you relented, thanking him profusely for his help and he melted under the attention, frustration discarded. 

The next couple weeks were a blur of blissful happiness to him. He got to wake up and share breakfast with you, escort you to and from work, and sleep under the same roof as you. It was wonderful. You'd even stopped acting fearful of him, as long as he kept his movements slow and deliberate and his voice gentle. When it came to you though, all he wanted to be was gentle and soft so it wasn't exactly difficult most of the time. You'd even gotten comfortable enough with him that you started laughing at silly little jokes he made. He had to pick carefully from his rather grim repertoire of jokes, not wanting to lose any progress he'd made. Eventually he'd get a feel of your sense of humor and then perhaps he'd be able to share some of his more morbid jokes. Until then, he was more than happy to make stupid food puns while you danced around the kitchen, giggling adorably. 

Things would have been absolutely perfect, except….other humans. Whenever you were in public together, he had to wrangle his instincts to keep himself from disemboweling anybody who looked your way or presumed they had the right to speak with you. He settled his nerves by giving off warning growls and snarls, and keeping his body between you and other people as much as possible. He knew it was making you uncomfortable and he was trying **so hard** to keep his temper down but it was just so difficult! In his instinctive drive to protect you, most of his common sense went right out the window. He already had a tenuous grasp on his sanity, thanks to the hole in his head, but thoughts of you being touched by other humans plagued his thoughts and drove him crazy. 

Eventually, you confronted him about his behavior, insisting he improved his ‘social skills’. If it hadn't been you asking he would have growled at the suggestion. As it was, you were giving him a place to live, feeding his body with food, and soul with your presence, so the least he could do was **try** , as much as it pissed him off. 

You dragged him along with you, you determined, and him begrudging. He was pushed to interact with the people who were regulars in your life, including your manager and a small collection of local store owners and employees. Sans was initially jealous to learn you were friends with two young men who ran the place where you did your laundry but upon meeting them, he was able to relax slightly. The two were so obviously mated that it was almost sickening how sweet they were with each other. It made Sans jealous in a completely different way: what would it take to get **you** to love him that much. He desperately wanted to know. 

Another day you introduced him to the man who ran the store Sans bought his new jacket at. As you wandered off to do some browsing, the old man gave him a knowing look. Eventually you returned, with a large coat in hand. When you insisted Sans needed a bigger coat for wintertime, the old man concurred. When you signed to the old man that Sans didn't have any clothes besides those on his back he motioned for the two of you to pick some things out while he made tea. Sans was embarrassed to be coddled like this but he had to admit it was nice. Later, as the two of you were leaving with gifted clothes in tow, the old man pulled him aside and reminded him to take good care of you. With a saucy wink, the old man ushered him out the door…. It seems he might have just gotten permission to pursue you. Sans couldn't help the small grin that formed on his face as you excitedly explained how the old man had helped you out when you first came to town. He'd helped you pick out some furniture and kitchen essentials without breaking the bank. You shyly admitted that he was the closest thing to a father figure you'd ever had. Sans made a mental note to extend an offer of a favor in thanks to the old man. As sad as he was that he wasn't able to be there for you during your time of need, he was glad somebody was. 

That meeting had certainly gone better than the one with your manager, who was immediately suspicious of Sans’ presence in your life. She'd attempted to pull you away from him by the arm, unleashing a ferocious growl from the skeleton. You attempted to explain the new situation while Sans watched her like a hawk, still rumbling unhappily. He supposed the interaction could have gone better but you seemed pleased. That was enough for him. 

He watched you fondly as you skipped out of the store and whirled to face him, “We’re going out tonight! Out to dinner!” 

While Sans wasn’t really interested in eating food that wasn’t prepared by you, he couldn’t say no to that happy smile of yours. When he indicated that you should pick where, you refused, insisting that he pick. Heh, just for you. He landed on the small diner he used to frequent before he started living with you. He liked it: it was small, there were plenty of secluded seats, and none of the employees or patrons asked any questions. Their burgers, while nowhere near pre-famine Grillby standards, were still delicious. 

Sans made sure to nab his favorite booth, the small one in the very back of the diner. It had a good view of the entire restaurant, including any points of entry from the front door to the kitchen entrance. Nobody could sneak up on him here. Sans tensed when the waiter approached, uncomfortable having a stranger so near his human but restrained himself until they’d taken your orders. No need to cause a scene when you were so pleased with his social performance today. After the waiter was out of earshot, you cleared your throat, indicating you had something to say.

“Sans. Can I talk to you about something?” ...well that wasn’t ominous. Still, he needed you to know he would always listen to you, so he hummed quietly in acknowledgement. 

“I know one of the first times we talked, you said something about...soulmates?” An electric shock shot down his spine, and he sat upright in surprise. What could this possibly be about?! Did you finally feel the pull of your soul? He hoped so. 

“Well, I just wanted to...well. I uh, don’t really know how to explain this properly.” That was fine, he’d wait an eternity for you. 

“Uh, well, I just wanted you to know that I’ve kinda gotten used to your presence in my life, and I’m actually surprised I’m able to admit I consider you to be a friend, despite the rather rocky start we had. As somebody who struggles with trauma and mental illness, I sort of gathered that you’ve had some shit happen to you. Between the way you act and what I know about what happened underground, I can safely assume that you’ve got some issues of your own. I suppose the fact that we first saw each other at a psychiatry office was a pretty good indicator too.” You laughed then, although it had no humor in it. His mind was still reeling from your admittance that you considered him a friend. It was more than he could have hoped for! It wasn’t exactly what he wanted but he knew he needed to be patient, you weren’t ready for anything more. 

“Well, anyway, I just find myself caring about whether or not you have a good quality of life. I tend to keep people I know at arm’s length, especially since I escaped from h- I mean, my ex. He had a way of putting a wedge between me and those I cared about.” Sans was elated that you both cared about him, and admitted that he was one of the privileged few who did actually recieve your care. He felt his soul glowing warmly. At the same time, he was a bit apprehensive about what else you would reveal about your abuser. This was supposed to be a nice dinner together, he didn’t want to lose his temper. 

“Pretty much everybody I’ve ever loved has written me off because of that time in my life. The only one who ever tried to stay in contact was one of my best friends, coincidentally, it was the guy you stabbed in the hand.” You cut your eyes at him and he flinched slightly. Right. He supposed he should feel bad about that...well, he **did** feel bad about it, he just didn’t care about how it affected your friend, only you. 

“I still need to get you to apologize properly to him. You really fucked up his hand, you know.” Sans couldn’t help the growl that escaped him and he mumbled, “served the fucker right, tryna touch ya…” 

“Anyway, what I need you to understand is that if you want to continue to be my friend, there are some things that I need from you. It’s fine if you have romantic feelings for me or whatever, just don’t expect me to reciprocate them.” That was fine! It did hurt a bit to hear out loud about your lack of romantic feelings for him but it was reassuring to know you didn’t mind his own feelings. He could work with whatever you gave him, as long as he could remain by your side. You opened your mouth to continue but stopped yourself at the waiter’s approach, tray full of drinks. Sans began to give off a warning rumble, only to be startled by your foot nudging him under the table. His gaze snapped back to you in slight confusion. 

“Hey, none of that. See, that’s another thing I want to talk about. I sort of get that you’re trying to protect me or whatever but people like that waiter, or my friend? They aren’t gonna hurt me. The way you bristle and try to scare off other people really reminds me of my ex, which is not a good look for you.” He...reminded you of your ex? He resisted the urge to clutch at his soul, it felt like somebody was squeezing it. Is that really how you saw him? Were you only tolerating his presence because you were intimidated?! Before Sans’ thoughts could spiral completely out of control, you pulled him out of it with the sound of your voice. 

“Being protective of somebody you care about is one thing, but trying to control them by keeping others away from them, even in the name of protection, is **not** healthy. I sort of get where you’re coming from, especially after what happened that one night...but really. I want to trust you, I really do. I just...can’t be around somebody who’s going to act so possessive. It makes me feel trapped, it makes me feel like an item to be owned, not a person with autonomy. Do you understand?” Sans sat back and let all this new information wash over him. In truth, he **did** understand where you were coming from. Nobody likes to be controlled. He remembered vividly all of the fights he’d had with Paps about whether he was allowed to do certain things. Papyrus had accused him of something similar, of disregarding his autonomy and trying to control his life. It hurt to hear then, and it hurt more to hear now. The truth hurt. The truth…. You wanted to trust him, you’d said so yourself. You were trying to be honest with him, the least he could to was attempt to reciprocate. He pulled his focus back to you. 

“...sorry. I uh. I sometimes have a hard time with my instincts, ya know? It’s a compulsion, I see a potential hazard, and I react. Underground, there was no room for benefit of the doubt, yanno? I understand ‘f that’s not really a proper excuse, but I will try to be better. I really...I really don’t want to lose ya…” he choked slightly on that last sentence, it was difficult to say out loud. It was the truth though, and he wanted you to hear it. He really would do anything to keep you in his life. 

Luckily, that was the end of the deep talk for the day, and the two of you were able to chat about nonsense over burgers. Well, you chatted, and he made bad condiment puns to get you to snort. In the end both of you were able to smile again, and he couldn’t have been more happy to end the day with that gorgeous shine in your eyes. He vowed to himself that he would never let a day go by without at least one sighting of that sparkle of humor and happiness in your face. 

It had been a normal day when Sans happened to glance at the calendar. He’d been astonished to see what month it was...almost a year to the day Paps dusted. He was on edge the entire week, dreading the anniversary of that day. You seemed to notice he was a bit more tense and gave him his space, which he appreciated. It was hard to believe he’d made it an entire year without his beloved brother. Would Paps have been proud of how far Sans had come? Would he be disappointed in the deaths that had happened at his hands, or would he have understood? He promised himself he’d try to do better, for you, and for Paps. 

Finally, the day arrived. He distracted himself with folding laundry, something that he would have never done before he met you. It made him feel closer to Paps too, Paps was always meticulous with his folding. You had been especially cheery today, as if to counteract his dismal mood. It wasn’t helping. He tried to ignore you as best he could, he really didn’t want to snap at you, you didn’t deserve that. 

You called to him from your place in the kitchen, interrupting his folding “Hey can you shortcut me to the grocery store? I need to pick up some tomatoes for dinner tonight. I’m making spaghetti~” It felt as though his soul had escaped his body. He saw, simultaneously, two of the most horrible things he could think of: you, no, Paps, walking to the store to get tomatoes. Paps bending down to help the kid, wait, no, it was you. A knife, plunged into a ribcage, dust, dust and blood. No. A knife, embedded in a fleshy, human chest, blood welling up around it, spilling out onto the ground, painting his bones red, no no no! 

Completely lost in his nightmare, Sans hurtled himself to you. He wasn’t even sure if he’d shortcutted or just ran to you. He straightened up to his full height, looking down at you. So small, so fragile, so much less powerful than his brother, you didn’t stand a chance. He needed you to stay here, he growled at the thought of you on the street tonight, no, he wouldn’t allow it. 

For once, he didn’t lessen his voice or tamp down on his intimidation for you. He could apologize later, now, he needed you to obey him. “ **N O** ” His voice reverberated throughout the apartment, vibrating the windows violently. Some small, reasonable part of his soul begged him to stop frightening you, he could see the fear on your face and he **hated** it. He squashed this feeling down, he needed you to listen to him, to stay here, to be safe. Enough of his guilt got through to him for him to extend one quivering hand to cup your face in reassurance. His soul sank when you flinched away but he continued his motions and caressed your face softly. With a heavy sigh, he decided to give you something to calm you down. “Sorry. I just meant I’d go to the store, you **stay here**.” He grit his teeth at the sight of shimmering tears gathering in your eyes, and wiped one away with his thumb. “ **promise me** you’ll stay here until I get back.” He stared into your eyes intently, he needed you to know how serious this was. 

Much to his relief, you gave a small nod in response. He really would have a lot to explain when he got back, but for now, he had what he needed from you. He stepped back from you and into the rift he’d torn in the fabric of reality. He re emerged in the alley outside your work and shook himself out, trying to ease some of his tension. It would be fine. You were home, you were safe. 

Unfortunately, the store was unusually busy, and Sans found himself becoming even more agitated. He just wanted his fucking tomatoes and then he could go the fuck home. He passed the soup aisle, one of the first he’d ever seen you in, before you really knew each other. He relaxed slightly when he saw the can of “SpaghettiOs” and remembered his idle thought from months ago, whether or not you liked spaghetti. Tonight proved you had at least that in common with Paps. He couldn’t help a tentative smile at that thought, he had no doubt the two of you would have gotten along. He took a deep, calming breath. He’d tell you tonight, he’d explain why he’d been so insistent earlier, he’d apologize profusely. Then, he’d tell you all about Paps and how wonderful he was. Everything would be fine, the two of you would have spaghetti and have a small remembrance for Paps. He would have liked that, Sans thought. 

Bolstered by his plan, Sans quickly gathered up the remaining items he knew you needed in addition to the tomatoes. Soul lighter than it had been in days, Sans practically leapt through the shortcut and stepped into the kitchen. The groceries fell to the floor with a thud. Something was horribly wrong. Sockets wide with dread, Sans scanned the apartment, trying to piece together what he was seeing through the haze of fear clouding his judgement. The front door had been kicked in, nearly off its hinges with the power of the attack. Things and been knocked off tables and countertops, as though somebody had swept through without care and...dragged something heavy...there was a small trail of red, leading back to your bedroom. He followed it, feeling as though he was slogging through thick mud. Your bedroom door had similarly been bashed in, and your dresser was knocked to the floor in front of it, as if you’d tried to barricade yourself in. That knowledge, paired with the sour scent of your fear permeating the room filled Sans with an unquenchable bloodlust. Praying to a god he didn’t believe in, Sans begged that he was not about to find your dead body in the bathroom. He gently pushed the door open, and it swung inward easily. There, on the off-white tile was a small pool of blood. Your blood. There was no mistaking that scent. He swiped a phalange through it, it was still wet. You hadn’t been gone long. Gone...

Completely hysterical, Sans began cackling madly and fell to his knees. He reached his hand into his bad socket and pulled with enough force to take a new chip out of his skull. Ignoring the additional pain radiating from his newly chipped socket, he sniffed deeply, taking in the scent of the intruder who had come crashing down on your lives, ruining the tentative peace. The intruder was male, human, young, but not quite as young as you. It clicked. The man you’d been hiding from all this time, it **had** to have been him. Stifling his laughter as best he could, Sans stumbled back to his feet. He would find you, and he would find your kidnapper, and then, there would be hell to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes as well.


	5. Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Non-con warning for this chapter!! It's not overly explicit but I just wanna be extra sure people are safe. 
> 
> This was really hard for me to write and I dunno if it's quite how I want it. Idk. Let me know if you'd like a summary so you don't have to read details if you don't want to.

You were so, so happy, this was the happiest you could ever remember being. Walking along the sandy shore with the one you love while your beloved family and friends waited for you back home. Ocean breezes carrying the fresh scent of salt and kelp washed over you. It had been a small ceremony, neither of you were big on crowds or attention, so it had been nice and casual, just as you’d always wanted. 

You weren’t able to afford to go anywhere fancy for the honeymoon, but at least you could afford to take some time off work and spend it with your new husband. You looked up from where your hand was joined with his. Everything around you had the hazy quality of a dream, like one of those soft filters they used on old romance films. He was already looking at you. He always looked at you, when he had the chance. The white lights that made up his eyes were soft and fuzzy, gazing at you with adoration. You squeezed his bony hand, smiling so wide you thought your face would crack. Unable to contain your sudden wellspring of happiness, you leapt at him and clung around his shoulders like a baby monkey. Out of sheer reflex, his arms wrapped around you, supporting you effortlessly. He laughed, that sweet, deep laugh that rumbled through your chest and made you feel so so warm, and you giggled in glee as he swung you around in circles. It was so perfect, so-

Wait. This...this wasn’t right. This never happened to you…

The moment that thought occured to you, you saw your husband’s face contort into a terrified grimace, and you felt yourself being yanked from his arms. The soft, lovely beach around you had turned dark, wind whipped at now-gray waves and the rumble of a storm sounded in the distance. He opened his mouth, reaching out to you, trying to tell you something! ...you couldn’t hear him. You tried to call back to him, but your throat could produce no sounds. To your horror you saw a dark shadow appear behind your love’s back, looming. You screamed and screamed, trying to warn him but you still could not produce a sound. You could do nothing but fight your invisible restraints and watch as the shadow descended on him with the speed of a diving bird-of-prey. It hit him full force in the back of his skull, shattering it. You started wailing, although still no sound was produced and then-!

You were awake, sweaty, sore, and breathing as if you’d just run a marathon. You attempted to wipe some sweaty hair out of your face, only to find you could not move your arm. You tried the other one. Nothing. You tugged at your legs, it was the same. Your already ragged breathing became even more labored, as you struggled fruitlessly against your bonds. Desperate, you flung your head to the side to see what you had feared: your wrists had been bound to a bedpost...with...handcuffs. No. Nonononono-

Heavy footsteps snapped your attention forward, where a door stood at the end of the bed you were chained to. Completely contradictory to the thudding steps, the door was opened softly, gently, slowly. Tears started prickling at your eyes, you knew what was to come would be worse than you’d ever faced before. And then, there **he** was. Silhouetted in the yellow light of the hallway, you could just barely make out his features. They were handsome features, there was no denying that, you’d certainly thought so at one point, but now his face was nothing more than that of a snarling beast. He was ugly. His ugly thoughts and ugly actions and ugly soul overrode his physical looks and made him disgusting to look at. You hated him. You hated him in equal proportion to how much you had loved him. 

He was so sweet at first, so perfect when you met him, and everybody made sure to let you know how lucky you were when he began pursuing you. You agreed wholeheartedly. Handsome, smart, a young man with a promising career in the force, and he wanted **you**. You who was so...plain, so normal, so regular. Why did he want you? It didn’t matter at the time, the question was swept out the door from the piles of gifts and compliments he showered you with. You didn’t have **time** to think of anything else. It wasn’t until he had you so completely wrapped around his finger that things began to change. 

He’d always been overprotective of you, wanting to know where you’d been and what had happened. Now he was obsessive, he needed to know your schedule down to the last detail, he needed to know who you spoke with and what about. He told you he wanted to take care of you, at first. Now he refused to let you work, claiming you didn’t need to. When you tried to explain how uncomfortable this made you, your parents scoffed and deemed you ungrateful and spoiled. You had a nice young man, ready to provide for you, there was no need for you to be a brat about it. When your friends began expressing similar sentiments, you concluded that they were correct. Maybe you were being too sensitive, maybe you **were** ungrateful. 

One thing led to another, and suddenly you realized that you weren’t really seeing friends or family anymore, and if you did meet up with them, **he** was always there. He hated that you had other male friends and refused to let you hang out with them, and then he escalated to disallowing all your friends. Down, down, down you spiraled, feeling so low, so worthless. Obviously if your friends actually cared about you, they would still be there to support you through all of this crap. Your old buddy from high school was the only exception, your only lifeline to sanity, but after **he** threatened to hurt him if you continued to hang out together, you dropped him like a hot rock. You couldn’t be the reason for somebody else being hurt. It was your place to take that. You deserved it, after all. Worthless, useless, ungrateful. 

Years of mistreatment left you so low and confused as to what being a person even meant anymore. You’d given up trying to ask for help. Your family disowned you, telling you they’d only accept you back if you shaped up. You thought you deserved his treatment of you. It wasn’t until the first time he put you in the hospital that you had an inkling that something was horribly wrong. People who loved each other did not put each other in the hospital. You’d made the mistake of calling the cops on him during a particularly brutal beating, only to have two of his buddies show up. You said you didn’t want to get him in trouble, you just wanted to get him to stop. They laughed at your misery and twisted your broken arm and spit on you. You felt so cheap, so used. You told the nurses at the hospital that you’d broken your arm from falling through a table. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he **had** thrown you through a table, you just omitted his involvement. Yes, you could leave him, you supposed, but you had nowhere else to go. He was everything, your entire life. He made all the money, he owned the house, the car, everything. You were trapped. 

Memories like these swept through your mind as you watched him warily, looming threateningly in the doorway. Sauntering slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he approached you. Each step he took sent a current of fear through your body, and he smiled cruelly when he saw you flinch at his presence. He smiled down at you for a few incredibly tense moments before his smile melted off his face and, with a snarl, he yanked your head up by the roots of your hair, wrenching your arm in the process. 

“Exactly who do you think you are, you little slut?” He always did have an affinity for gendered insults, whether they applied to the object of his ire or not. Instead of yelling or screaming, his voice was so soft, so dangerous, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move and you would be tumbling to your death. “You **belong** to me, you are **my** property, and you had the fucking **audacity** to leave me?” He pulled your hair roughly, emphasising his words with excruciating pain in your scalp. You couldn’t cry yet, this was only the beginning. 

“Do you have any fucking idea how long it took for me to track you down!? Huge pain in the ass. Had to call in a bunch of favors, but I got a couple markers put out on you, across the state system, waiting for a ping on the radar.” He smirked and shoved your face back into the bed harshly, twisting your neck unnaturally. “So fucking stupid, not only did you move two measly counties away, but you didn’t even change your name! Dumb bitch, did you really think so little of me? Thought I wouldn’t find you?!” His hand retreated from your hair, taking a clump with it, and he placed his hand on the front of your neck. Not squeezing, not yet. “The moment your name was in the system, I had a message letting me know exactly where you’d run off to. Took a little bit of planning but I’ve got the whole week off work so we can play together, and you can have a refresher course on how to be a good little pet.” He put a tiny bit of pressure on your throat, just enough to slightly restrict your breathing, before removing his hand and stepping back to pace. 

“And after all that work I put in to find you, what did I discover?! You’re living in a dump, in the middle of the slums like a fucking common whore. And don’t think I didn’t notice the bed made up on the couch. And the **men’s clothing** that was folded up next to it. Already shacking up with another man, just like the slut you are. Fuck, makes me wanna kill you.” The casual way he states this causes bile to rise in your throat, but you hastily swallowed in back down. Puking on his bed would only infuriate him further. 

As you lay there trembling, a spark of hope ignites inside you. Sans. Surely he’d save you, right? He did it before! But how, how will he find you? Your heart sank. There was no way he’d be able to find you before it was too late. He didn’t have any of the resources that **he** had, and it took **him** two years to track you down! A puzzled look came upon his face, as though he were contemplating the emotions flashing across yours.

“So who is this fucker that you’ve let into your shitty little hovel? You fuckin him? Is that how you’ve been making money? God knows you’re useless for anything else.” You didn’t respond, it didn’t matter either way. After a minute of waiting for your answer, he sighed heavily. A jingling noise drew your attention to where his hand was drawing a ring of keys from his pocket. He lifted your right hand and slid a slender key into the handcuffs, releasing it. You immediately curled your wrist to your chest, there were deep red indents in your skin from the struggling you’d done. Another, much more ominous jingle noise came then: the sound of a belt being unbuckled. No…

Unable to hold back any longer, you started silently weeping, tears cascading down your cheeks. At his touch, you finally made a noise, you whimpered pathetically and renewed your fruitless struggling. Your newly freed hand reached over to the one still held and clawed at it desperately. You might be able to slip your hand out if it got bloody enough, you think you might have seen that in a movie or something. Instead, his hand descended on you, gripping the collar of your shirt and yanking it down. It dug into your skin harshly before the sound of ripping fabric filled your ears. He tossed the tattered remains of your shirt to the side, and moved down to your pants. You abandoned your cuffed hand to try to pry him off of you but he was so much larger than you, so much stronger. With an elbow to the gut, the air was forced out of your lungs in pain and surprise, and you could do nothing but struggle and gasp as he tore your undergarments from your body. Completely bare and vulnerable before him, you willed yourself to go to sleep, to let your mind go far, far away, to be someplace safe while he used your body…

Mercifully, you had passed out partially through his brutal session, so you only had to suffer awake for a bit. After he was done using you, you presumed he’d left to do something else, as when you awoke the room was empty. You also discovered your other hand and both of your feet had been freed. Shaky from blood loss and achy and sore, you slowly, laboriously slid your legs off the bed. You wanted to look for some clothes to cover up, but doubted your legs would be able to support your weight right now. Instead, you settled for wrapping yourself up in the bloody and cum-stained sheet you’d been laying on. It was disgusting and degrading but it was better than being completely naked. You felt like you should be crying, but it was as though you’d already emptied yourself of all tears. You felt numb and tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to the place in your brain where none of this was real. You collapsed back on the bed and attempted to fall back asleep. 

Instead of counting sheep, you took stock of which parts of your body were injured. A very familiar ritual. It felt like your right ankle was sprained, it would be much more apparent if it was broken. Your ribs were definitely bruised, and you had bloody bite marks all down your neck and chest. Between your legs was...abused...you couldn’t bring yourself to finish your inventory of injuries. Feeling like a foolish child, you wished for Sans to come save you. Save you like you were some sort of damsel and your life was a fucking fairy tale. You fell into a restless sleep, hoping, praying….please come soon. 

When you next awoke, it was to your ex entering the room with a bottle of water and leftover Chinese takeout. He carelessly set them down on the bedside table, and ordered you to eat. Feeling defeated, you listlessly scooped rice into your mouth and downed the water while he watched you. As there were no windows in the room, it was impossible to tell what time it was. You could have been here for days or only a couple hours. Not that it really mattered. 

Finally, he spoke, “Had a lot of fun last night, how do you feel about a repeat?” The meager serving of food churned in your stomach but you didn't fight him, you were too tired. Maybe he was in a better mood, or maybe he was just pleased with your compliance, but he was considerably less rough than before. It didn't make it any easier. 

This pattern went on for an indeterminate amount of time. You'd wake up, he'd give you food, he'd use you, you'd take stock of your injuries, and then you'd fall back asleep. Occasionally you'd be woken up by the sounds of his work buddies drinking and laughing the next room over, but thankfully they left you alone. You honestly couldn't tell how much time had passed, but you had lost all hope that there was any help coming for you. You didn't deserve it anyway. 

On and on time marched, the lack of sunlight draining you of your strength and will to live. You spent a lot more time sleeping, and were much more out of it when you did manage to stay awake. That was why when one day you suddenly woke to a loud crash you were so disoriented and confused. You strained your ears, trying to figure out what was going on through the fog of sleep still clinging to your consciousness. The sounds of drunken laughter and wobbly footsteps were coming closer to your door. Resigned to take whatever horror was about to be unleashed on you, you laid back down, attempting to sleep again. Outside the door, muffled slightly but still distinguishable, your captor spoke, “‘Kay so th’ lil bitch is in here. Give ’em a good time boys.” 

You pressed your eyelids shut, squeezing out some tears, only to be startled by a much different, much deeper voice. “Somebody’s about to have a good time here but I don’t think it’s you, ‘ **boys** ’.” Your heart leapt in your chest, and you began openly weeping in relief, you’d know that terrifyingly dark timbre anywhere. 

With a weak voice that hadn’t been used in days, you croaked out, “Sans-!” A coughing fit tore through your lungs, interrupting your call. Over the sound of your own hacking, you heard the sickening squelch and crunch of flesh being torn and bones breaking. Utterly exhausted, knowing Sans had everything under control, you curled up in your filthy sheet and listened to the slaughter taking place outside the door. 

When the sound of the door creaking open reached your ears, you sat up eagerly, only to be met with the furious face of your abuser. His glock clutched in his hand, covered in blood, he stormed over to you, yanking you off the bed with one arm. You felt the familiar, cold press of metal against your chin. It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened you with his gun. However, if the look on Sans’ face as he materialized in the doorway said anything, it was that your abuser was never going to be able to do anything to you ever again, very, very soon. 

“Not only did you run away from me and shack up with another man, but a disgusting monster?! Don't you have any idea what those beasts did down there? You're nothing more than a light snack to him.”

Sans’ eye light was tiny and bright, it lit up his face with a haunting glow. You had no idea how your abuser was still standing up to the skeleton, he looked like a god of death, come to reap the souls of mortals. His growl echoed into the room, practically physical with how loud it was. Instead of the usual twinge of fear, you felt elation and an embarrassing tickle of arousal. That was new. The feeling of cold, hard metal jabbing at your neck broke you out of your thoughts. Right. You were being threatened. 

Sans’ growl eventually trailed off into terrifying, manic laughter. It started out soft and grew until his entire frame was shaking with it. The only sign that the man behind you was unnerved was the slight increase in the tempo of his breathing. With a wide grin that showed off his alarmingly prominent canines, Sans spoke again. “Heh, buddy you're gonna want to point that gun somewhere else and take your **filthy mitts** off **m y h u m a n**.”

Your captor spat and laughed derisively, “You've already shown your hand, skele-man. You care about what happens to this cute little cocksleeve. I don't. Now, if you don't want their yummy brains splattered all over the ceiling, you'll back the fuck away.” 

Sans’ grin had gotten progressively tighter the longer the man spoke, but he didn't stop his slow, deliberate steps forward. When Sans showed no signs of stopping his approach, your abuser tightened his grip on your upper arm and drew you closer to his body. 

“Are you fucking deaf, you stupid freak? Back the fuck off!” Oh, how delicious the sound of your abuser’s fear leaking into his voice was. You couldn't help it, a harsh, raspy chuckle emerged from your throat. Finally, proof he had emotions beyond anger and jealousy. You wanted to see him bleed next. A sharp pain on your temple stopped your laughter short, and sent your vision reeling. “You think this is fucking funny? Bet you won't find it funny when you're bleeding out on the ground and this fucking animal is feasting on your innards.”

As soon as your head stopped ringing and the world had evened back out, you couldn't help but retort, “Sans would never hurt me.”

“So fucking naive, like always. You never saw, like I did. They took plenty of photos when they went down there to investigate. Piles upon piles of bones, human bones. Blood splattered on every surface, charred human flesh, ripe for the eating. Absolutely disgusting.” By this point, Sans was only a couple feet away, and your abuser had backed up into the wall. 

“I'm not afraid to take the little slut down with me. I saw what you did to the rest of the guys, I'm not stupid. But you're gonna be just as miserable as me, I'm gonna take away your little fuck toy so you can't play with it anymore. How does that sound?”

“Nah.” The body behind you jolted, perfectly synchronized with the wet squelch of guts being punctured. With a grunt of pain, the glock fell from his hand and he staggered against the wall, releasing your arm to clutch at his abdomen, where guts and blood were leaking out around a protruding white bone. 

Within moments, Sans had gently pulled you away from the dying man and had returned to crouch in front of where he’d collapsed against the wall, tilting his head like a curious puppy. He snapped the gun up from the ground, spinning it on one clawed phalange before it was flung into the void. Without turning to look at you, Sans asked, “You okay?”

“No,” you replied quietly, stooping to pick up a pair of handcuffs. You limped to Sans’ side, and dangled the cuffs in front of him. “But I will be.”

Draped in the skeleton’s huge coat, you helped Sans dress your abuser's wounds, making sure to wrap the strips of bedsheet painfully tight across his stomach. Didn't want him to bleed out too soon. Under your direction, Sans restrained the man on the bed, mirroring the way you had first woken up. Once situated, you made sure to give the man a heavy stomp on his privates, eliciting a high pitched wheeze of pain. After a sizable amount of fabric was wadded into his mouth to silence him and his mobility was nullified, Sans teleported you back to your apartment to clean up. He made sure to end up straight in the shower, minimizing the amount of blood the two of you would track inside. Keeping you held to his chest with one hand, he started a warm bath for you, and began the process of cleaning your bite marks. 

Sans was eerily quiet during the treatment of your wounds, but you appreciated the peace. Once he was satisfied with his first aid, he stopped the water and set you gently in the tub. With a firm order not to fall asleep until he got back, Sans teleported away again, presumably to finish the job. 

You cleaned yourself robotically, and drained the tub a bit to rid it of the blood-tinged water. You refilled it with more warm water and allowed yourself to relax. You ended up draining and refilling the tub multiple times, trying to keep the water at a comfortable temperature. You would get out, but you were afraid the mix of achy legs and slick tile would lead to a painful fall, so instead you waited patiently for Sans’ return. By the time he materialized back in the bathroom, your hands and feet were impressively pruney, and you were more than ready to sleep for a week. 

Sans must have washed up at the other's house, as he was blood and gore free and in nothing but his boxers. Why a skeleton needed to wear boxers escaped your knowledge. You mumbled sleepily as Sans lifted you from the tub and wrapped you in a towel, “d’ja get ‘em good?”

He chuckled darkly, “oh, I was very thorough.”

“Good.” You added simply with a sage nod. 

Once you were dry to his liking, he wrapped you up in a blanket off the couch and carried you towards your bedroom. “Wait!” You clutched at his arm, a sudden fear coursing through you. “Not… not in the bedroom, not on the bed, please.” Sans’ eye light softened as he looked into your face, and he nodded before making a detour to the couch. He set you up with an elaborate nest of blankets and pillows, which you might have laughed at if you were less exhausted. As it was, you smiled sleepily and mumbled a quick thanks before tugging on Sans’ arm to get him to lean down a bit. Once it was in range, you planted a kiss on the side of his skull, the side without the crack, and laid your head down. Cheekbones a furious blue, Sans quickly straightened and began fussily adjusting the blankets and pillows around you. As you watched his face fondly, you finally noticed the large chip that was taken out of his bad socket. You furrowed your brows and frowned, motioning for him to lean closer. Eventually you coaxed him into setting his heavy jawbone on one palm, while your free hand lightly traced the new damage. 

“Did one of them do this to you?” The thought that he might have gotten injured trying you save you tore at your heart. 

He blinked once, confused, before he traced his own hand over where you'd indicated. Once he found the chip, he lifted his head away from you and shook it. “Nah, wasn't them.”

“M’kay, good.” You could feel your eyelids drooping, but before you fell asleep you had one more order of business: “Sans, will you hold me?”

Complying with your wish, he lifted you and your bundle of blankets up and slipped himself onto the couch before lowering you onto his chest. Feeling warm and safe, you hummed happily and snuggled into his rib cage. You were incredibly thankful for the layers of blankets, you doubted cuddling bare bones would feel very nice. As he had the first night he spent in your apartment, he wrapped one arm around you and soothingly stroked your head with the other. You fell asleep with a hint of a smile and a warm buzzing in your chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes as well.


	6. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frick this chapter fought me the whole way, sorry it's so late. I didn't get a chance to edit it so there's a strong likelihood that there are lots of mistakes ehe...I'll fix them later. 
> 
> Sorry for my tanking-quality garbage, pls enjoy anyway.

Knowing there was no time to spare, Sans began scouring your apartment for clues as to where you might have been taken or the identity of your kidnapper. Frustrated with the lack of progress, he drilled the faint scent of your kidnapper as well as your more recent scent into his mind and followed its path down to the ground level and outside the building. He followed it briskly along the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians who were not even a blip on his radar. Eventually he found the end of the trail, an empty parking space with a pay meter. They’d shoved you in a car and drove away with you. Tracking you would be impossible with his usual methods. As much as he loathed to admit it, he needed help. Your well being was much more important than his pride. 

He took a shortcut to the thrift store, landing himself right next to the counter, startling the old man with his sudden appearance. Cutting off his furious signing, Sans quickly explained that you were in trouble, and he needed help finding you. When the old man pressed him for specifics, Sans growled but complied, letting him in on his theory that your old abuser had found you. The man suggested Sans go out and use any other avenues he could think of while he gathered reinforcements. Antsy and more than willing to do something beyond sitting around waiting for a bunch of humans to arrive, he shouldered out the door and marched down the street a ways until he came upon the laundry place where you’d run into your old friend. Wait. Old friend. He might have more information. 

Sans barged into the store, and stormed up to one of the owners, asking after your friend. After explaining the necessity of tracking the kid down, the owner relented and handed over his phone number. With shaking phalanges, he punched the number into the phone and waited with his other hand tucked into his bad socket while he listened to the ringing. He estimated that it had been about four hours since you’d been snatched. He didn’t have much time. Not even bothering to give his name or any context when the phone was answered, Sans only asked what he knew about your ex. He gripped the plastic casing of his phone as the situation was explained to him, and it cracked under his harsh grip. He had a name. He shortcutted back to the thrift store, hanging up on the guy in the process. Much to his surprise, reinforcements consisted of your manager, and the weird kid he’d seen working at the store once. The manager looked pissed off, and the kid was clutching a laptop to their chest. 

Sans relayed all the information he’d gathered and was startled when the kid snapped into action. They plopped down on the floor, laptop resting on their crossed legs and began a flurry of activity that Sans was unable to make sense of. Now that he had stopped running around for a moment, his thoughts had time to catch up to him. His mind was a whirlwind of confusing emotions, battering his psyche unrelentingly. Through the haze of his thoughts, he caught snippets of conversation between your manager and the kid: “How are you going to-” “Credit card. Less secure than-” “Is this going to get you arrested again?” “Could try to get his social-” “How the fu-” After what felt like hours of waiting, finally, there was a shout of “GOT SOMETHING!” 

Leaping to their feet, the kid shoved their laptop into Sans’ face, indicating the name of a bar in a neighboring city. “He was just there, swiped his card a couple of minutes ago.” 

Your manager pulled the laptop away and gave Sans a look, “Can you do that weird disappearing act anywhere?” 

“No. I’d need to have a better understanding of the area.” If it were any other time, Sans would have been uncomfortable with other humans knowing about his shortcuts, but at the moment, he could only focus single-mindedly on finding you as fast as possible. 

She nodded at this and pulled some keys out of her pocket, “I’ll drive you. Kiddo says the bastard goes to that bar at least twice a week, should be able to get something from there.” She led Sans out the front door, simultaneously reciting the address aloud into her phone’s navigation system. 

Sans was highly uncomfortable riding in a vehicle made by humans, let alone being stuck in one with a human he barely knew and didn’t particularly care for. He knew he had to suck it up and deal with it if he wanted any chance at getting you back in once piece, he’d take any assistance he could to ensure that. 

Even with what seemed like extremely reckless driving, it still took over three hours to arrive at the bar they'd been looking for. Your manager parked around the corner in a side alley and turned to Sans. “I’ll go in and see what I can find out.”

Knowing his presence would be too noticeable and suspicious, he allowed the human woman to leave him in the car while he sat and silently roiled in his barely contained rage and fear. Who knows what the fuck was happening to you right at this very second, while he was sitting, doing **nothing**. Flexing his clawed phalanges, Sans imagined the hell he would rain down on whoever had dared to steal you away. That small trail of your blood leading out the front door...it haunted him. It wasn’t until his hands came away from where they’d been gripping the car seat covered in cheap upholstery stuffing that he realized he’d been shredding your manager’s car. He didn’t care. 

About fifteen minutes later, said manager came scuttling back to the car and plopped into the driver’s seat, breathing heavily. If she noticed Sans’ destruction of her upholstery, she didn’t give any indication that she cared. “Those guys in there...it was a bunch of cops hanging out! Apparently it’s a popular place for the local police to eat and drink after work...and they’ve completely closed ranks. We’re not gonna get anything out of them.” Sans didn’t miss the slight waver in her voice as she relayed the information. 

“What d’ya mean?” 

“They essentially told me if I didn’t stop sniffing around in their business that I’d have problems. Shit. I feel so useless…” Sans gave her a sidelong glance and was surprised to see a glimmer of tears in her eyes. Seems he wasn’t the only one at his rope’s end. He reached a decision. 

“Go home.” 

Her head snapped up to look at him, confusion and disbelief on her face. “What?”

“Go home. I’ll handle this.” 

When she continued to stare at him, uncomprehendingly, he growled lightly, causing her to flinch. “N-no! No, I need to do something to help!”

Cutting off the slightly hysterical refusal, Sans spoke, “Listen. You want them back, I do too. Things are about to get real ugly and it’ll be for the best that you’re not involved.”

Something about the sober seriousness in his voice seemed to finally reach her. Eyes still shiny from unshed tears, she searched his face for a few moments, before nodding reluctantly. “Bring them home…please.”

After exchanging phone numbers “just in case,” Sans exited the vehicle and stood on the street corner, watching as the car drove off. It was time to do things his way. 

It took much longer than he would have liked: what felt like days of staking out the area, sniffing around for any clue or trace of your scent clinging on to any passersby. Nothing nothing nothing. Until. He caught a whiff of something that was most decidedly familiar. The scent of the male who’d intruded into your apartment and had taken you away. Sans peered around the corner of the alley he’d been canvassing. A group of men, all loud and smelling very distinctly of alcohol were walking along the street, joking and laughing. His sockets narrowed as he caught a glimpse of their individual LV. None of them had LV lower than three. These men were irredeemable, as far as Sans was concerned. And that scent...it was **him**. No doubt about it. The hunter’s instincts that Sans had been utilizing caused an excited pulse of magic to shoot through his bones. This was it. 

As much as Sans wanted to annihilate the man then and there, he needed to be led back to where you were (hopefully) being held first. It wouldn’t do to destroy the first lead he’d had in days. Bones quaking with the desire to kill, Sans stalked his inebriated prey through the unfamiliar streets, causing a strange sense of longing for the city he’d begun to consider home. Of course, wherever you were was his real home but he couldn’t help but miss the tentative familiarity of the streets he’d been living on the past couple months before coming to stay with you. 

It wasn’t long until the group of men and their skeletal shadow reached the beginnings of the suburbs just outside the city limits. The trek led through a well-to-do maze of lawns and garages and houses to a rather nice-looking, two-story house. Apparently the man was wealthy enough to afford a house in this fancy neighborhood. The scent of sawdust and the half-completed houses on the rest of the block indicated that this was a relatively new section of the suburbs. There didn’t appear to be any other occupied houses on this street. Good. Fewer potential witnesses. 

As the men stumbled through the front door, still laughing and pushing each other around like children, Sans caught a whiff of **your** scent. Fresh. Nearby. His eyelight buzzed with magic as he strode across the street, finally ready to dole out his idea of justice. Not even bothering to shortcut to the other side of the door, Sans simply called on his much-neglected blasters. A moment of blinding light, and the door was a pile of ash. Deciding instant incineration by concentrated magic was too kind a death for these men, he dismissed the floating, skull-like weapon and flexed his claws. 

Following the overwhelming scent of alcohol, Sans turned a corner into a hallway and came face-to-face with one of the men, who stared at him uncomprehendingly. His slack jaw opened, as if about to call out to his companions when Sans’ magic grasped him by his soul and flung him down the hall. He slammed into the wall with a muted thump and fell to the carpeted floor, unconscious. From the ruckus the other men were still making, Sans gathered they hadn’t heard a thing. Not wanting to risk this first man waking and calling for help, Sans leant down slightly, just enough to wrap his claws around the man’s neck. One quick snap later, and the human’s head hung unnaturally limp from his neck. Satisfied he was dead, Sans dropped his chokehold and stalked up the stairs to where the rest of the men were. 

He arrived on the landing just in time to hear words that made his marrow start to boil, “‘Kay so th’ lil bitch is in here. Give ’em a good time boys.” 

The man who spoke was standing outside a closed bedroom door, surrounded by three of his cronies, who were all looking disgustingly excited at the prospect of abusing another of their species. Forcing his grimace into his most intimidating, manic grin, Sans ground out, “Somebody’s about to have a good time here but I don’t think it’s you, ‘ **boys** ’.” 

Much to his delight, the three cronies looked as though they were about to soil themselves at his sudden appearance. He took one menacing step forward, cracking his knuckles, when the sound of your voice, weak and strained called out from behind the door, “Sans-!” He could hear you choke on your own words and your voice devolved into a painful coughing fit. He needed to take care of the trash quickly so he could go to you. 

Taking advantage of the men's’ surprised stupors, Sans charged forwards and sunk his claws into the belly of the closest man. As soon as he felt some sort of solid object, presumably the spine, he clenched his fist around it and yanked. It came away with all the resistance of wet tissue paper under Sans’ rage-fueled strength, leaving the first man to collapse and gurgle blood. The next met his fate as Sans reached out his hand and clenched it over the man’s head, squashing it like an over-ripe peach. The third had broken out of his stupor by this point and was attempting to scuttle backwards, away from the terrifying visage of fury that had killed his two companions so easily. Before he could get far, Sans stomped down on the man’s leg, which let out a sickening crack. Without breaking stride, Sans used his weight and momentum to knock the man to the ground and deftly crushed the man’s windpipe. 

Cronies dealt with, Sans leapt to his feet, prepared to deal with the main object of his ire...which had disappeared. The doorway leading to the sound of your hacking cough was slightly ajar. A feral growl rumbling in his chest, he stormed over to it. The sight that met him sent a chill through his magic. The man was holding a gun, right up to the delicate skin of your neck. Just as quickly as the chill went through him, a ferocious, red-hot fury swept it away, leaving only rage in its place. 

“Not only did you run away from me and shack up with another man, but a disgusting monster?! Don't you have any idea what those beasts did down there? You're nothing more than a light snack to him.” Sans’ eye socket twitched, the mere thought of hurting you was ludicrous. The growl that had been contained in his chest was released a full force. He wanted the man to know he was fucked. 

The lack of a fearful reaction was both irritating and pretty hilarious to Sans, he couldn’t hold back the dark chuckles as he watched the gears turning in the man’s head. Plus that fucking weapon was still pointed at his human’s neck, and that just wouldn’t do. “Heh, buddy you're gonna want to point that gun somewhere else and take your **filthy mitts** off **m y h u m a n**.”

Your captor merely sneered and laughed, “You've already shown your hand, skele-man. You care about what happens to this cute little cocksleeve. I don't. Now, if you don't want their yummy brains splattered all over the ceiling, you'll back the fuck away.” 

Despite the slight tingle of fear at the thought of your blood being anywhere besides your body where it belonged, he still continued to creep forward. He just needed a tiny opening to get the gun away and everything would be fine. He ignored the other taunts, he was already beyond enraged and knew distraction at this very moment could be fatal for you. He ground his teeth slightly as he saw the man’s hands clench harder into the flesh of your upper arm, no doubt leaving painful bruises.  
“Are you fucking deaf, you stupid freak? Back the fuck off!” There it was. Fear was finally leaking into the trash’s voice. Much to his surprise, you began laughing roughly, apparently amused by the distress of your kidnapper. At that, the man shoved the gun barrel into your temple, effectively silencing you. “You think this is fucking funny? Bet you won't find it funny when you're bleeding out on the ground and this fucking animal is feasting on your innards.”

At that moment, Sans realized what he was trying to do. It was starting to dawn on him that he wouldn’t make it out alive, and he planned to leave the most painful parting shot possible. He was trying to make you fear Sans. As selfish as the thought was at a time like this, he balked at the idea that you’d go back to how you were before, or perhaps even worse. You’d want nothing to do with him if you knew what he did…

“Sans would never hurt me.” Pulled from his spiral of despair by the sound of your voice, Sans rallied himself. You were still in danger, he could figure the rest of this out after you were safe. 

“So fucking naive, like always. You never saw, like I did. They took plenty of photos when they went down there to investigate. Piles upon piles of bones, human bones. Blood splattered on every surface, charred human flesh, ripe for the eating. Absolutely disgusting.” Sans knew that part of the deal with the human government allowing monsters to live on the surface was that everything was to be revealed. Luckily, Toriel had taken up the reins of that endeavor, and explained how the merciless rule of Undyne left monsters starving and desperate. In the end, humans were allowed down below to retrieve human remains so they could attempt to identify them and return them to their families. It had been a huge point of contention for many humans, but the draw of studying magic and harnessing its potential had the government vouching for monsters and extending certain protections. There was nothing the average human could do to stop the arrival of monsters above ground besides protests and the occasional hate crime. 

Sans shook off the memories and re-focused on the two humans before him. He’d backed the two of you up against a wall, leaving no place to run. He was waiting, still waiting for that moment, that opening that would allow him to snag you away. 

“I'm not afraid to take the little slut down with me. I saw what you did to the rest of the guys, I'm not stupid. But you're gonna be just as miserable as me, I'm gonna take away your little fuck toy so you can't play with it anymore. How does that sound?” In his emphatic threats, the abuser had gestured with his gun, pointing it away from your fragile human body. It was his final mistake and all Sans needed to gain the upper hand. 

“Nah.” Calling on his magic once more, he impaled the man from behind with jagged bones, distracting him long enough to pull you away and safely behind. With his body finally in between you and the threat, Sans felt most of the tension bleeding out of him. Finally. He squatted down in front of the man, who’d slid to the floor, leaving a crimson trail of blood down the pale wall. He scooped up the gun from where it had landed on the ground and tossed it into the void. Another problem dealt with. Time to check up on you. He asked over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eye off the man yet, “You okay?”

You were silent for a moment, before a light jinggling noise caught his attention. Seconds later, you finally responded, presenting him a pair of handcuffs. “No. But I will be.”

After bundling you up in his coat, covering up the signs of the abuse you’d suffered while held here, you helped him keep the human from bleeding out. He noted with satisfaction and pride that you tightened the cloth enough for it to hurt. After silencing and restraining his new prisoner, Sans waited patiently while you stomped on the human between his legs, an adorably vengeful look on your face. Well. Adorable and attractive. 

Prisoner situated for now, he scooped you up and teleported you back to the apartment. It took quite a bit out of him to go so far but the urge to get you home was enough to manage it. Plus he still had some torture to look forward to. He bandaged and cleaned your wounds to the best of his abilities before setting you in the bath. Hopefully you’d be able to relax for a bit while he took care of the clean-up. 

After making sure you were safety situated, he teleported to the place you’d been held. He dumped all the bodies into the void, as well as any trace of you or himself. This included the bed you’d been huddled up on: he tossed the human to the floor, still attached to the bedpost and sent the sheets and mattress to the void. Now was the fun part. He undid the handcuffs enough to remove him from the bedpost and then teleported himself and his new prisoner to a place he never thought he’d visit again. 

He stepped out of the void into his old workshop. He didn’t really have any memories of what he used to do down here before the...incident...but he kept the place relatively in order as a place to escape to when Paps was getting to be too much. He pulled open a drawer and was pleased to find a clean pair of shorts he’d stashed there. He dumped his new clothes into the void, slightly guilty for the waste, before scrubbing the blood off his bones in the sink by the doorway. Not bothering to dry himself completely, he pulled the clean shorts on and considered the pathetic human trash that was desperately trying to crawl away from him, hands still bound. Being underground again was making his skull itch, so he quickly situated the human so he’d be unable to move around and teleported back to the apartment. He’d finish up with his prisoner later, after you’d been calmed down. 

You seemed half asleep in the tub, and Sans silently berated himself for leaving you alone for so long. He bundled you up in a towel, waking you up enough to mumble, “d’ja get ‘em good?”

He chuckled at the childish way you’d phrased the question, “oh, I was very thorough.” He had been thorough. He’d attached the handcuffs to some exposed piping, and even if the prisoner managed to get out of them, there was no way for him to leave the room without the ability to teleport. He was trapped until Sans said otherwise.  
“Good.” Your head bobbed sleepily in what he supposed was your exhausted approximation of a nod. You were so cute. Even worn down, hurt, and abused, you still managed to make his soul melt. 

After he’d finished drying you off, he retrieved the sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you liked to sleep in, helping you slip into them before wrapping you up in a blanket and carting you off to your bed. He stopped when you wriggled uncomfortably and clenched your fingers onto his forearm, exclaiming, “Wait!” He complied, waiting patiently for an elaboration. “Not… not in the bedroom, not on the bed, please.” His soul sank at the fear in your voice. Of course, you’d spent days trapped in a bedroom and hurt over and over on a bed, similar to the one in your own bedroom. That was fine, you could be comfortable enough on the couch once he fixed it up properly. He gathered all the soft things in the house and piled them up until he was satisfied with his makeshift nest. He found himself flustering slightly at the fact that he was doing so, it was rather domestic behavior for somebody like him. 

You settled in with a grateful thanks and pulled him by the arm down to your level. Slightly amused by your sleep-drunk behavior, he did as you indicated, only to be surprised by the sensation of soft lips pressing into the side of his skull. Oh. Oh! You’d...kissed him. Fighting to keep his embarrassment under wraps, he busied himself with adjusting the pillows and blankets around you, avoiding eye contact. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you smile at him dopily before your brows furrowed in confusion and concern. You indicated for him to rest his jaw on your hand while tracing his bad socket gently. He suppressed a shiver at the contact. 

“Did one of them do this to you?” Distracted as he was by the close quarters and the warmth of your hands on his face, it took him a moment to register your question. Do what? Confused, he traced his phalanges over the area you’d just touched and was surprised to find a new chip. He wasn’t sure when it had happened but he didn’t want you do worry about it and reassured you it wasn’t them. 

He could tell from the droop of your eyelids that you were moments from passing out, but it seemed you had one more request for him, “Sans, will you hold me?”

His soul pulsed in both happiness at your desire to be close to him and sadness at the quaver in your voice. At least you knew you could look to him for protection. It helped him feel important. He carefully lifted you up enough to settle onto the couch before lowering you on top. You hummed in contentment and curled closer to his body warmth. He made sure to use what little energy he had left from the busy day to make a small pad of magic between you and his bones, radiating warmth and fending off the harshness of his bones. His soul buzzed happily at your soul’s presence and he carded his phalanges through your hair. Realizing the front door was still busted from the break-in, he groaned quietly and levitated the nearby coffee table to prop up against the broken door. He’d have to get that fixed at some point. It was okay though, he could stay up all night to watch over you. Nothing would take you away ever again.


	7. Denouement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late!! (again)
> 
> I got caught up in finals and was also a little torn on how to finish up this piece. I was originally only planning on having six chapters, and you can see how well that went. After Sans' next pov chapter, I'm going to tie this story up. However! I do plan on continuing with this particular set-up as far as the characters are concerned. My plan is to do little one-shots featuring specific events or what-ifs of this universe (for example, if Paps never died). 
> 
> I'd love some input from you guys, anything from what you do and don't like, suggestions for what-ifs or prompts or whatever really.

The sound of bass rumbling the next room over woke you up. Even in your sleep-addled state, you were easily able to identify the sound as Sans’ voice. It sounded like he was talking on the phone, which was notable in the fact that he never used his phone for calls. 

You made an attempt to sit up from your blanket burrito slouch but the tense pain of sore muscles caused you to grunt faintly and flop back down. You needed some painkillers. Or maybe some hard liquor. 

At the sound of your grunt, Sans’ voice abruptly cut off and he sped out of your bedroom into the living room where you were resting on the couch. He seemed to be checking you over, brow bones pulled together in an intense look of sorrow and concern. You tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasping cough. Sans quickly went to the sink and grabbed you a glass of water before helping you sit up with one firm arm so you could drink without drowning yourself. After you'd downed half the glass, you handed it back to him and he set it on the coffee table. 

He stood awkwardly, fiddling with his phalanges nervously as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Despite the pounding headache you could feel forming, you couldn't help but be a little amused at the view: a huge, intimidating skeleton twice your size squirming like a little kid who was too shy to ask a question. It was oddly adorable. 

“How’re ya feelin’?” He finally mumbled. You quickly took stock of your aches and pains, and came to the conclusion that some regular painkillers would do the trick well enough. Plus you were a couple days behind on your depression and anxiety meds, you should probably start those back up. 

“Could you grab me my backpack? I’ve got some pills in there I need.” You winced at the roughness in your voice, the water had only helped so much. Your throat was still raw from screaming…..don’t think about it. 

Moments after your request, Sans had retrieved the items and refilled your water glass. He watched you intently as you downed the handful of pills and finished off the glass. After you’d set the glass back down, Sans awkwardly slumped onto the couch next to you, leaving a good amount of room in-between. He looked down at his feet, which were clad in nothing but some gray socks you’d bought him before. The two of you sat in slightly uncomfortable silence before the sound of a buzzing phone sliced through the tension, causing both of you to jump. He quickly pulled both his phone, and to your surprise, your phone out of his pocket. He handed yours off to you before checking his own. You winced when you saw the notification count on yours. You didn’t have the energy to deal with answering and reading through them all right then, so you plopped it face-down on the couch next to you. Sans caught your attention by lightly clearing his (non-existent?) throat. “Uh...would you be okay if some people came over here?”

You stared at him. What people could he possibly be talking about?! In all the time you’d known him, he’d never interacted willingly with any other human besides yourself. All other interactions were either required of him by necessity or by your prodding. Strangely enough, your intense staring allowed you to notice small drops of blue dripping down his skull. Weird. Was he sweating?

“Who?” A reasonable question, you thought. 

“Uh...everybody. Your manager and her other employee, the old man, the laundry dude? Yanno?” He looked away and shrugged, “They’re all worried sick about you and have been contacting me non-stop.”

Your continuous, confused stare caused Sans to withdraw into the neck of his sweater. Huh, where was his new jacket? He almost never took it off…

“How...how do they have your number?” Something wasn’t clicking for you, although at least your headache was receding somewhat. 

He sighed deeply and returned his gaze to his feet, hunching in on himself guiltily like a cowering dog. “I couldn’t….I didn’t...I got back and you were just **gone**. I didn’t know what to do. I was so desperate, I went to the old man, hoping he’d know something. He gathered everybody up and they helped me find a lead to go after you.” The words rushed out in a torrent. You couldn’t remember a time when he’d spoken so many words at once. He wasn’t exactly a talkative dude. And...were those tears in his socket? “It was my fault, yanno?! If I hadn’t been so stupid, so stubborn, you would have been with me, at the store, safe and fine and you would never have been hurt, he would have never gotten you again! Without Pap, you’re all I’ve got, and I almost lost you to my own stupidity. I thought you were going to die, with your last memory being me intimidating you, yelling at you, scaring you. Awful, stupid, stupid…” His hand darted up, clenching into the new chip in his bad socket. It suddenly occurred to you how he’d probably gotten that new injury. His voice came out in a broken whisper, “I don’t deserve you…”

You were stunned. How exactly were you supposed to respond to all of that? Slowly, as if he would run away, you siddled over to him and tentatively touched his arm. First thing, you needed to calm him down. His entire body jerked at your contact, before he deflated and leaned slightly into your hand. Taking that as a good sign, you pulled his arm into your lap and stroked it soothingly. After his breathing had slowed down and most of the tension drifted out of him, you finally responded. 

“... well, I dunno who or what ‘Pap’ is so I'm kinda lost on a couple levels. First: it's nowhere near your fault. What happened was basically inevitable, he was never gonna give up until he found me, I'm just lucky I had you to come after me.” You looked up into his face, trying to catch his gaze. He was still avoiding eye contact. 

“Pap…” he murmured. You waited patiently, despite the fact that you were morbidly curious what this was all about. Sans had never shown any signs of being connected with anybody besides you. He knew other monsters of course but never talked about them or contacted them in the time you'd lived together. From the grief-stricken look on his face, you had a feeling that this Pap was an important person who was no longer in his life. 

Tentatively, you prodded, “Who is Pap?”

As you ended your question, Sans took a sharp breath in and finally met your gaze with his own. “...Papyrus, Pap. My little bro. I… he's gone. I couldn't protect him.” It seemed as though the skeleton before you was falling apart emotionally, and you couldn't stop the urge to embrace him. You buried your face into his soft sweater and wrapped your arms around his chest, squeezing hard. It felt like you could keep him together with just a little love and determination. 

For a moment that felt like an eternity, Sans sat frozen, not reacting, not even breathing, until with a shuddering inhale, he brought his arms around you and pressed his face into your neck. You could feel moisture dripping from his face, making the front of your shirt wet with what you presumed were his tears. His enormous body shook with silent, heaving sobs, so heavy you could feel in your heart he hadn't properly grieved for his brother. You could help with that. A new sense of purpose flowed through you, and you started rubbing his shoulder blades soothingly. 

Both of you sat in solidarity and silence, ignoring the text and call notifications from both your phones. Eventually, his sobs slowed down, and then stopped altogether. He whimpered quietly into the skin of your neck, not bothering to remove his face from where it pressed into you. “...yer...yer the one that's hurting and needs help right now, why are you helping me?”

“It doesn't have to be one-sided like that. Friendship is about helping each other out when we need it. You needed a hug, and I'm here to provide!” You said the last part with a bit of humor in your voice, trying to lighten the mood. When you were blessed with the feeling of a low chuckle vibrating into you, you knew you'd succeeded somewhat. 

“After all the shit you've been through, and ya still so kind. Jus’ like Paps. He would have loved you. He was so forgiving, and believed in everybody, no matter what they'd done he believed they could be good.”

“He sounds amazing...I wish I could have met him.” The way Sans was talking, you knew this wasn't estrangement or anything. No, his obviously beloved brother was dead. “Maybe… you could tell me more about him?” Talking about stuff like that helped, right? 

With a sigh and a reluctant huff, Sans withdrew from the embrace. “That'd be nice… but right now we really should let everybody know yer okay. They're all clamorin’ to see you.”

Just then your stomach decided to let you know how empty it was with an embarrassingly loud growl. Sans’ eye narrowed to a pinprick, and if you didn't know any better you might think he was pissed at you. He practically rocketed off the couch and into the kitchen, rustling around in the cabinets. Moments later he shortcut right back to the couch and shoved a handful of energy bars into your lap. “Eat. I'll make you something more substantial.”

He again took a shortcut back to the kitchen (was that really necessary?) and began defrosting some chicken. Slightly confused and a lot amused, you watched him bustle around the kitchen as you nibbled on one of the bars. Somehow he'd managed to only grab your favorite flavor out of the variety pack you knew was in the pantry. It left a warm feeling in your chest to know he paid attention to such little details. You don't know when his stalker tendencies switched from being scary to being sort of endearing and flattering, but it was what it was. Watching the large skeleton busily cooking in your tiny little kitchenette was both adorable and hilarious; he looked almost domestic in his fluffy sweater and casual sweatpants. He must have noticed your staring because he looked up at you questioningly, tilting his head. You felt a goofy grin spread across your face as you took a mental snapshot of the scene. All that was missing was a cute little apron. 

A light dusting of blue lit up his cheekbones (was that a blush? cute!) and he returned to cooking. Figuring he had it covered, you decided to tackle the monumental task of responding to everybody. Nearly the moment you sent an “I'm okay" text to the old man, he responded. He must have been sitting by his phone...a bit of guilt sank into your stomach. You quickly scanned his response. 

Gramps: We're coming over.

Well… guess there's no stopping him now. He was the one who helped you pick out your apartment, so of course he knows where you live. You're not sure who “we” includes though. Probably at least your manager, plus her other employee, as they were the old man's son's kid. 

As the scent of pan seared chicken and garlic filled the air, you hobbled off to your bedroom to get changed. You reluctantly stepped into the bathroom to get cleaned off, still feeling dirty despite the fact that you'd had a bath the night before. From past experience you knew it would be a long time before you'd be able to stop feeling dirty from what was done to you. Back to square one, healing on your own… but that wasn't entirely true this time. Last time, your family disowned you, your friends deserted you, and you had nowhere to go. Now you had a couple people you knew you could rely on, plus you had Sans. You still weren't really sure where the two of you stood, as the way you'd met was so unorthodox, but you could no longer imagine your life without him in it. 

You'd only just collapsed back on the couch in fresh clothes when your front door, which you just noticed was almost completely off its hinges, slammed open. In an instant, Sans had taken a defensive position between you and the front door, blocking your view. After a moment however, his tense body language relaxed and he moved to stand next to where you were sitting. The room had suddenly gotten a lot more crowded. Not only were your predictions of the old man bringing the kid and your manager true, but your old friend had apparently tagged along as well. Said friend was eyeing Sans nervously. Sans, for his part, was hovering protectively over your shoulder but appeared to be less aggressive than you’d expected. In a flurry of limbs and bodies, you were passed around from person to person, being hugged firmly and questioned about your well-being. It wasn’t until you let out a small squeak of discomfort that Sans stepped in and lifted you bodily away from everybody else, giving them all an accusing glare. He continued to cradle you in one arm as he retreated back into the kitchen to retrieve the food he’d made for you. It smelled amazing! He’d made some sort of rice dish with garlic and chicken and your mouth watered eagerly. You hadn’t had anything besides crappy take-out leftovers for days now. 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with casual talk of weather and things you’d missed while you were gone. It was obvious that everybody was morbidly curious about what had happened to you, but it appeared Sans had warned everybody off bothering you about it. You wanted to be annoyed at his mother henning behavior but let it slide for now. Besides, you couldn’t stay too mad when he’d, under his own initiative, apologized profusely, albeit slightly reluctantly to your friend whose hand he’d torn apart previously. A surprising amount of pride filled you at the interaction. Seems your skeleton was getting better at social interactions. Yeah. Your skeleton. It was a strange feeling, one that had been growing ever since the first time you let him into your home and into your life. You may not truly believe in soulmates or destiny, but it really did seem right for the two of you to be by each other’s side. 

A strange, almost out-of-body feeling filled you, but not in a bad way. It was as if you could see the cozy little scene from a third-person point of view. You, your little group of friends, and your skeletal companion, all squished together in your tiny apartment, sharing laughter and food and forgetting about the bad in the world for one glorious, precious day. Maybe, just maybe, you thought, your healing could truly begin.


	8. Salt in the Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY!! Between the end of my summer semester classes and the beginning of my fall classes I kinda got waaay behind on writing, thus the lateness of this chapter! I finished it up rather hastily, so there are bound to be plenty of errors that'll have to be dealt with later, I just wanted to get this out for y'all. Thank you for your patience and please enjoy! 
> 
> Oh and this chapter is a bit gruesome at the end (I mean...it's torture) so be on the lookout if you don't wanna read that sort of thing.

Sans hated to admit it, but he was exhausted. He hadn't slept a wink since you were taken, and now he couldn't fall asleep for fear that you'd be taken from him if he closed his sockets for even a moment. Luckily, skeleton monsters didn't need to blink. On the other hand, skeleton monsters still very much needed sleep to function properly. He was honestly only running on fumes and the high his soul got from being in close proximity to yours. He was bound to crash eventually, and he wanted to be sure he wasn't near you when it happened, in case he lost himself. It was unlikely he'd hurt you in even the most deep of his manic and dissociative states but he still didn't want to risk it. 

It'd take a lot of wrangling his instincts but he could probably feel safe with you spending the night with some of your friends. Temporarily. Just enough to catch up on sleep. Maybe. ….just thinking about it was making him want to pace. 

He very carefully lifted the bundle of blankets you were wrapped in up off his chest and settled you down on the couch. You made a soft whining sound and squirmed slightly before calming back down. He waited, frozen, until your breathing returned to the slow, deep rhythm that indicated you were still fully asleep. Okay. He needed to do something. Something that would be quiet but would also burn some nervous energy without exhausting himself further and still remaining near enough to you to protect you. Okay, it was a bit of a tall order. 

The sight of the coffee table propped against the door caught his eye. Right. He might be able to fix that with minimal hassle as long as the structure of the door itself was sound. One quick inspection later revealed that the door had been kicked nearly off its hinges, leaving the bits of metal mostly intact, but still warped beyond function. If he was careful, he could probably brute force the pieces back into shape with a combination of fire magic and strength. It was worth a shot. 

Working as quietly as he could, he bent the metal parts back into their proper shapes and fitted them to the door once again. A bit of fiddling and blue magic manipulation later, and he had a mostly functioning door. The lock itself wouldn't physically hold anyone back, but the magic he'd reinforced it with definitely would. There, much better than a makeshift blockade. He carefully moved the coffee table back to its rightful place. A quick glance over at you confirmed you had not been disturbed by his activity. Shit you looked so soft and innocent while sleeping...nope, not the time! Redirect that focus…

The pale morning sun was finally starting to peek through the tiny window in the kitchenette, painting everything a muted gray. He watched as the colors changed slowly, pink to orange to pale yellow. It had been a long time since he'd purposefully watched a sunrise. Paps used to get him up early every once in a while to watch it with him, claiming it was a waste to miss out on even one second of the sun's light. At first, none of the monsters could ever fathom how humans took the sun and the stars and the seasons for granted, but now Sans sort of understood. It's so easy to get caught up in life and forget about all the little things that actually made life worth living. Papyrus never forgot those things. 

The sensation of his phone vibrating in his shorts pocket startled him out of his contemplation. Oh. The manager lady was calling. Moving quickly and quietly, he crept out of the living room and into your bedroom to answer the call. The moment it connected there was a jumbled mess of words spewing out of the speakers and he grumbled quietly and shut the door slightly to hopefully block out most of the sound. You really needed the rest. 

“What." Oops, he let a little more irritation into his tone than he meant to. At least it stopped the lady's tirade for a moment. 

“You texted me saying you got them back but never elaborated?! What the hell man we're all worried sick! Let me talk to them!”

He growled softly, “no.”

“I'm coming over there then, you can't just keep them under house arrest or whatever it is you're doing!”

“They're still asleep,” he snapped. 

“Oh. Right. It's really early still. Uhh sorry I'm just a bit on edge. I'm really glad you found them though… are they okay?” The genuine concern in her voice slightly lessened Sans’ grumpiness and figured he could cut her a break. He wouldn't have found you without her help, after all. 

“... they're in one piece. They need time.”

“Right, of course. Um maybe we can come over later? We'd all really like to see them for ourselves and make sure they're okay.”

Sans restrained himself from snarling a harsh rejection of her request. He really did not want anybody near you at the moment...but… it was your apartment, and your friends. It was hard to go against his instincts but his desire to be nothing like your shitty abuser overpowered his impulse to lock you away from the world for protection. He had to find balance. For you. You deserve the best, so he would try to be better. 

“Fine. I'll ask them when they wake up if they're okay with company. If they say no yer not coming in, understand?”

“Yeah yeah whatever mister grumpy. I'll bring some frozen meals over so you guys won't have to worry about cooking for the next few days.”

Well he could hardly refuse a peace offering of food, even if he resented the jab she'd made at him. “Fine.”

Practically the instant he pulled the phone away from his skull, it began buzzing again. It was an unknown number but judging from the texts they'd sent it was probably the kid's phone. Another notification popped up, showing he had even more unread messages. Well, he’d better deal with your swarm of needy friends before they came busting down the door. 

One incredibly annoying conversation with the kid acting as a go between/interpreter for the old man later, and Sans was ready to take another chip out of his skull. He was just about to finally wind it down when he heard your painful-sounding grunt from the other room. He mumbled a quick dismissal before rushing to your side. 

Out of habit, he scanned your body for injuries, noting each and every place where your smooth skin had been marred by that idiot’s hands. Each mark on your precious body felt like a blow to his soul, displaying loudly how bad of a soulmate he was. You opened your mouth, presumably to tell him something, when you instead choked on a cough. As fast as he could, Sans swept into the kitchen, messily filling a glass with tap water and rushing it back to you. After helping you sit up and drink, he waited awkwardly for you to say something. He felt like a stumbling idiot, a babybones with a crush. He’d had next to no trouble speaking to you before your kidnapping, but now it felt as though he should be punished for his neglect and inability to properly care for his mate...they weren’t even technically his mate anyway. They’d never accepted him in that way and probably never would but as long as he could stay by their side he’d deal with it. 

Finally deciding he’d have to be the one to break the silence, he asked, “How’re ya feelin’?” 

You contemplated for a moment before responding, “Could you grab me my backpack? I’ve got some pills in there I need.” Your voice was still painfully rough. Unfortunately, due to some of the things he did back underground when it came to humans, he knew exactly what caused your discomfort: you’d been screaming out in mortal pain and terror for days on end. The image of your face in the stead of one of the humans he’d butchered tormented him and he felt his grip on the current moment slipping. Wait, you asked him to do something, right. 

After refilling your water, handing over your backpack, and making sure you didn’t need anything else, he finally collapsed back on the couch next to you. He wanted to sidle up next to you, to feel the warmth of your very much alive body on his bones but wasn’t sure where you were at mentally. You probably weren’t too keen on physical contact right now. His phone buzzing in his pocket broke the slight tension, and he retrieved both his cellphone, as well as yours to return it to you. A quick glance at his phone let him know your friends would not be kept waiting much longer, so he decided to test the waters on how willing you were to have company over. “Uh...would you be okay if some people came over here?” 

As you stared at him in silence, he could feel sweat start to drip down his skull and he had to repress the urge to wipe it away. Sometimes it would fall into his gaping head wound: a sensation that was decidedly unpleasant. 

After what felt like an eternity, you finally responded with, “Who?” Oh. Of course. He didn’t even tell you who he was talking about, gave you no context. And he thought he couldn’t possibly feel even more foolish in front of you. 

“Uh...everybody. Your manager and her other employee, the old man, the laundry dude? Yanno? They’re all worried sick about you and have been contacting me non-stop.” 

Your return to silent staring left him wanting to retreat into his sweater like a child. Seeming to notice the effect your staring had on him, you finally had mercy and responded again, “How...how do they have your number?” 

...stars he was so fucking stupid. Of course, you didn’t know anything that’d happened while you were being tortured and held against your will...while he was running around uselessly, failing you every second of every day. The mountain of guilt he’d been holding back liquified into a tidal wave that washed over him in an overwhelming torrent and he began spewing half-completed thoughts at you, “I couldn’t….I didn’t...I got back and you were just **gone**. I didn’t know what to do. I was so desperate, I went to the old man, hoping he’d know something. He gathered everybody up and they helped me find a lead to go after you.” 

Tears came unbidden to his good socket and he angrily plowed on with his tirade, needing you to understand exactly how bad he’d fucked up, how much he’d failed you. “It was my fault, yanno?! If I hadn’t been so stupid, so stubborn, you would have been with me, at the store, safe and fine and you would never have been hurt, he would have never gotten you again!” 

He desperately tried to choke down his hysterical ramblings and continued in a strained whisper, purposefully digging his claws into the new injury on his socket, “Without Pap, you’re all I’ve got, and I almost lost you to my own stupidity. I thought you were going to die, with your last memory being me intimidating you, yelling at you, scaring you. Awful, stupid, stupid…I don’t deserve you…” So lost in his self-hatred, he didn’t notice your approach until your hand touched his arm. He jerked, surprised at the contact, before he practically melted into your touch. You pulled his arm closer to yourself and continued running your fingers along it in a calming rhythm.  
Eventually, the soothing motions calmed his raging thoughts and he let out a deep sigh. Right. Hating himself wasn’t helping anything. 

Out of the corner of his eye socket, he could see you attempting to make eye contact, but he refused, unwilling to see any sort of disappointment in your face. Instead, you spoke, “... well, I dunno who or what ‘Pap’ is so I'm kinda lost on a couple levels. First: it's nowhere near your fault. What happened was basically inevitable, he was never gonna give up until he found me, I'm just lucky I had you to come after me.”

He wanted to laugh at your use of the word “lucky". Nothing could be further from the truth: he had been nothing but a bother and an inconvenience since he met you but you still acted like you were grateful for him. After all the shit he put you through… no. He was the one who was lucky to have you. 

Oh...you’d asked him about Pap...he could trust you with this vulnerability. Even if you thought less of him because of it. 

Waves of guilt and pain washed over him and he took a quick breath in to steel himself. Right. Honesty, openness. Things he was working on for you. He snapped his gaze up to meet yours. “...Papyrus, Pap. My little bro. I… he's gone. I couldn't protect him.” Sans could feel his carefully maintained mask of neutrality slip and shatter. Everything that he’d been shoving down for months and months came rushing out in a storm of emotional agony. Bracing for the pain to come, Sans did not register your movement until you’d already grasped onto him. You pressed your face to his sternum and squeezed around his ribcage. He couldn’t help but stiffen up. He always, ALWAYS dealt with his emotions alone, if he dealt with them at all. And here you were still trying to help him, even to your own detriment. His last bit of hesitation finally dissipated and he collapsed into your embrace. 

Desperate to feel something to ground himself, he pressed his teeth to the pulse point on your neck in a facsimile of a kiss. When you made no move to reject his contact, the dam keeping his tears at bay also crumbled to the ground and he felt the skin around him becoming wet with his own magic tears. He shuddered, pressing more firmly into you to keep a bead on that steady beat that represented your heart, your blood, your precious life. From the center of your chest he could feel your intent seep out in a lulling warmth. More tears sprang to his sockets, he could feel how determined you were to help him through his emotional turmoil. It was the sort of positive intent he hadn’t felt since Paps had died. He whimpered pathetically as he clung to you and murmured into your skin, “...yer...yer the one that's hurting and needs help right now, why are you helping me?”

“It doesn't have to be one-sided like that. Friendship is about helping each other out when we need it. You needed a hug, and I'm here to provide!” Your soul pulsed with your conviction. You truly wanted nothing more than to help him. He couldn’t help the thankful chuckle that rumbled through his chest. You were so damn perfect all the time, how did you manage it?

“After all the shit you've been through, and ya still so kind. Jus’ like Paps. He would have loved you. He was so forgiving, and believed in everybody, no matter what they'd done he believed they could be good.” It was true, you and Paps were two adorable, pure, good peas in a pod. It hurt to know you’d never meet. 

“He sounds amazing...I wish I could have met him. Maybe… you could tell me more about him?” 

 

Of course. You were so damn sweet, as always...now, however, was not a good time. “That'd be nice… but right now we really should let everybody know yer okay. They're all clamorin’ to see you.”

Just as he released you from his embrace, your stomach growled in hungry protest. Fuck! Who knows how long it’s been since you’ve had a decent meal?! And here he was dumping his feelings in your lap without even considering how hungry you might be...he was a horrible mate. He retrieved a couple of energy bars from the cupboard, only your favorite kind of course, and dropped them in your lap before returning to the kitchen to make you a proper meal. 

As he bustled around the kitchen, preparing some chicken for you, he felt your amused gaze on him like a physical force. With a glance up he noticed the adorable smile you had graced him with and he felt his cheek bones flush with magic. He returned to his cooking with renewed vigour, trying to supress the embarrassment. 

From that point onward, the day seemed to go by impressively fast: your friends and coworkers visited and stayed long enough to warrant having a big meal together. At some point he’d had to remove you physically from a hug that got a bit overzealous, but otherwise it was a pleasant, busy affair. He’d managed to take the old man aside for a moment while you’d been distracted and requested you spend a day with him so Sans could have some time to...take care of business. The old man readily agreed to keep an eye on you, much to Sans’ relief. He could finally catch up on sleep and begin your ex’s punishment. 

True to his word, the old man arrived bright and early the next day to take you down to the store, apparently he had a little break room with a couch you could rest on while he continued to man the thrift store. Surprisingly, you were more than happy to get out of the apartment...Sans supposed he could somewhat understand. After all, you’d been trapped in a house for a while and probably wanted to get out for some fresh air. 

As anxious as it made him to have you out of his sight, he willed himself to trust the old man. Just for one day, just for a couple hours. You’d be fine. First order of business: check up on his prisoner. 

One rather taxing shortcut later and he was back in his old workshop. As always, it made his skull throb and itch but he pushed through it at the sight of his most hated enemy. He never thought he’d find something to hate more than Undick or the anomoly, but here it was. The human had been passed out, shivering on the cold concrete floor. There wasn’t much insulating this room from the icy winds of Snowdin, after all. The skeleton swiped an old crowbar from the wall it had been leaning against and smacked the exposed pipes the wretch was handcuffed to. The jarring explosion of noise and undoubtedly uncomfortable vibrations snapped the human into consciousness. He looked fucking terrified. Good. 

With a casual sweeping motion, Sans caught the human’s chin with the end of the crowbar, causing his jaw to slam closed painfully. It wasn’t enough to do any permanent harm (yet) but it would leave the human disoriented for a bit. Tossing the crowbar to the side for the moment, Sans knelt next to the human, repressing a chuckle at the fruitless attempts the human made to shuffle away from him. Not bothering to properly remove the human’s clothes, he simply swiped a claw through the human’s bodily fluid-stained shirt and pants, leaving behind shallow gashes on the pale skin beneath. The human was making pathetic whimpering noises, much to Sans’ amusement and annoyance. With a quick movement no human eye could follow, he clenched his claws into the human’s chin, forcing him to look into his empty eye sockets. “I’m gonna need you to be real quiet for a minute so I can take a nap. Wake me up and you’ll regret it.” 

With that ominous warning, Sans made himself comfortable in the ratty old rolling desk chair on the other end of the room. He only planned on taking a quick rest before he’d continue his tormenting of the human. Before he knocked out completely, he pulled some moldy bread from his shorts pocket, snagged from the apartment before he’d left, and dumped it on the floor by a slotted grate. It was the only thing connecting this room to the outside world, allowing a frigid breeze to sweep through and keep the air mostly fresh….well, as fresh as air could get underground anyway. Enough oxygen to keep a human alive at the very least. Satisfied with his job, he leaned back in his chair, ready to enjoy his nap while he waited for his assistants to join them…

Probably not even an hour or two later, Sans found himself blinking awake to the sound of the human’s muffled shrieking. Oh, seems as though help had arrived. As he’d intended, the scent of bread had attracted the attention of the Underground’s only remaining residents: rats. Their population had nearly been wiped out by the starving monsters, leaving only the most vicious and cunning of their brethren behind. The remaining rodents were significantly larger than their surface relatives, probably to counteract the perpetual harsh winter of Snowdin. Or perhaps it was magic’s influence. Regardless, Sans hefted himself to his feet, scattering the rodents temporarily. Seemed they still had sharp instincts to stay out of grabbing distance from monsters. 

He moved to the side of the still whiny human and pulled the hastily tied bandages from around his gaping stomach wound. While the bleeding had slowed down considerably, it was still oozing a small amount, perfect for what Sans had in mind. Taking the last crumbs of bread, he dropped them into the open wound of the human and stepped back, giving the rats their space. As an afterthought, he slipped out the cloth wadded in the human’s mouth with a bit of blue magic. The human’s hoarse cries filled the small room, undoubtedly further catching the rodents’ attention. Sans returned to his seat, letting the rats do their thing. One by one, the more brazen would creep forward, sniffing curiously at the fresh smell of blood mixed with bread. It didn’t take long for the first to sink their surprisingly sharp teeth into the exposed flesh, ripping away a strip of meat in one quick movement. The human squealed in fear and pain and began thrashing frantically, trying to smash the rodents approaching him. Smart enough to realize the human was hardly any threat to them, the rats became even more confident and soon they were taking turns snatching chunks of meat off the human, deftly dodging his pathetic attempts to defend himself. 

Every couple of minutes, Sans would retrieved a small salt shaker from a drawer in his desk and sprinkle it into the wounds. Each time, the human would screech and plead, begging for mercy that Sans did not have. The nice thing about the particular container of salt he’d grabbed was that it was monster salt. It was originally designed to keep human meat viable for longer periods of time, while also giving a slight boost of magic to make it easier for monster bodies to process. Now, interestingly enough, it provided a slight healing property to live humans. Of course, considering it was still salt, it hurt quite a bit in open wounds if the screams of his prisoner were anything to go by. The salt practically sizzled upon contact with the human’s blood, causing the skin to sluggishly attempt to knit back together, only to be ripped back apart by the rats. 

Sans watched this process patiently, with a neutral, almost bored look on his face. While it would be cathartic to more actively participate in this torture, he felt too drained to do much more than pour salt and watch the suffering unfold. 

Sans must have accidently dozed off, as when he next became aware of his surroundings, the human’s legs were practically stripped down to the bone and the human in question appeared moments away from succumbing to the pain and blood loss. Cursing quietly under his breath, Sans upended the rest of the salt on the exposed muscles and bones, attempting to extend the suffering. He wasn’t quite done yet. With a wheezing moan of pain, the human’s eyes fluttered open, just in time to witness the disgusting sight of his nearly fleshless legs knitting themselves back together. Head flopping weakly to the side, he again emptied the contents of his stomach, now nothing more than acid and blood. Sans grinned tiredly at the physical evidence of the human’s suffering. He still needed a good night’s rest, but his naps had helped quite a bit. The human would probably only last a couple more hours now that Sans was out of salt. That was fine, it was probably best to let this thing run its course. As much as making the man suffer was important, it was even more important to Sans that he return to your side soon. 

Just as he was considering returning to you, he felt a jolt as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Upon realizing it was the old man’s number, he flipped his phone open to answer. The human, in a last ditch effort to save himself let loose a strangled noise that could generously be identified as the word, “help” but Sans deftly pressed his foot into the human’s exposed throat, cutting off any further noises. Luckily, the human on the other end of the line didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but the sound of the old man’s grandkid’s frantic voice caused Sans’ soul to pulse in fear. 

“We need you to come back right now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love rats <3


	9. Bound and Determined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! (and on a cliffhanger too...oops) I got caught up in life and classes and being a responsible adult (which I'm really bad at) and on top of that I had a bit of writer's block. Like I knew where I wanted to go but it just wasn't coming out. Anyway. I powered through this chapter. It's a little on the short side and I didn't really edit it so I'll probably come back and add and fix things eventually but I really wanted to push it out so people know this fic isn't dead.

Sans hopped frantically through shortcuts, pushing his strained magic to the limit. His soul felt as though it was beating against his ribcage; a trapped bird desperate to be reunited with its mate. His mate. 

“Shit!” His bony palms shot out, just barely managing to keep himself from smashing into the dingy brick wall he’d nearly teleported into. Thank the stars he was almost home, just one more shortcut would do it. Horrible thoughts ran rampant in his skull, conjuring up images of all the ways you could be hurt. At the very least he knew you were still alive, as there was no way his damaged soul would survive your death. He’d know it from anywhere in the multiverse. Wherever your soul went, his would inevitably follow. 

Finally, he stumbled out of the tear in reality and into your apartment. The old man noticed him first, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. You were prone on the couch, the kid kneeling before you, tucking a blanket around your weakly protesting arms. He had to fight desperately to keep his protective instincts from translating into violent action, and instead settled for getting to the bottom of this mess. 

“ **W H A T H A P P E N E D** ”

He rushed to your side, replacing the kid as they leapt away from him, startled by his dark growl. Pressing his phalanges to your forehead revealed an elevated temperature, and checking the pulse point in your neck indicated a startlingly fast heart rate. You moaned quietly at the touch, eyes squeezed shut, leaning desperately into the comparatively cool temperature of his bony hands. 

A quick glance at the kid revealed that they were fighting back tears. Sans couldn’t find an ounce of sympathy in his bones for them at the moment. At his harsh glare, they finally answered his question, stuttering all the way through, “I-I don’t know! They got tired hanging out at the store so we thought we’d bring them home to rest but when we tried to lay them down in bed they started freaking out!” 

Muttering darkly, more to himself than anything, Sans responded, “Panic attack…”

“B-but I’ve seen them have panic attacks before, this was much worse…” the kid tried to interject but Sans had already tuned them out. He needed unnecessary distractions out of the way if he was going to help you properly. 

Cutting off the kid’s haltering babble, Sans gave a firm order to the other two humans: “Leave. Now.” When neither of them immediately responded, he whipped his head around, his eyelight leaking excess magic in a devilish halo around him. Both humans looked apprehensive but ready to protest. He didn’t have time for this. Grabbing each of them by their souls, he yanked the door open with a burst of magic and tossed them out before closing and locking the door behind them. Even if they had a key they weren’t getting past his magic. Now for you. 

During his moment of distraction, you had kicked the blanket off of your body and had twisted yourself halfway off the couch. Gently, much more so than he had with the other humans, he used his magic to pull you back onto the couch and kept you there. Couldn’t have you flailing about and hurting yourself. As for how he could help you...normally he wouldn’t consider it an option, but you were **his soulmate**. It was his best option. He placed a hand on your chest before pulling away slowly, dragging your soul along with it. Under other, better circumstances he would have loved to marvel at the radiance of your soul but instead he was left staring in horror at the sight that greeted him...you...your soul had the beginnings of a bond...but it was weak and fraying at the ends, as if the one your soul had tried to connect with left you when you needed it most…

Fuck. He shouldn’t have left you alone. How stupid could he be!? He should have noticed the signs, of course with your powerful human soul you were capable of accidently initiating a soul bond, but as a human you would have no idea what you were doing. How the fuck had he missed something so important?

Frantically, he searched through the scattered memories of his old life, the life where he’d actually been knowledgeable about souls. He still had the instinctual understanding of souls that all monsters did but quite a few of the finer details were currently eluding him. It must have started soon after he’d saved you from that house...he was never far from you for long after that point….but today he was all the way back underground, away from you for **hours**. Plus his ignorance of the slowly sprouting bond meant he never fully accepted or reciprocated the invitation, an action your soul no doubt took as a rejection….No, actually that couldn’t be right. The bond was frail and frayed but not completely torn off. He’d never outright rejected you after all, so it just never made it past the initial stage...and then the act of being taken to the room you’d been kidnapped from, accompanied with your uncomfortable feelings surrounding beds had spawned a panic attack, leaving you and your soul vulnerable. 

This. He could fix this. He’d have to act now and beg for your forgiveness later. With a deep, shuddering breath, he mimicked the pulling motion from before in front of his own chest, revealing his dirty, cracked soul. He averted his sight from it, it made him ill to look at. The wear and tear of years of misery, starvation, and suffering left the edges of the soul tattered. The blotches of dusty gray were signs of a monster’s corrupted hope and compassion, proof of the atrocities he’d committed. Most glaring of all, was the huge, jagged crack right through the center of the inverted heart, the crack that nearly shattered his soul once and for all. The death of his brother...no he couldn’t dwell on that now. You needed him. 

Slowly, carefully, he edged the two souls closer together, being sure not to let them touch each other or his hands. That was an activity reserved for more...intimate moments than this. Once the two had been brought close enough together, they began orbiting each other slowly, like two magnets drawn together but kept from colliding by the force of their movement. The sad, frayed end of the magic tendril that ran from your soul outwards began to slowly perk up. Meanwhile, a similar tendril emerged from his soul as well and tentatively began twining itself with yours. The two twisted together in a pattern of brilliant color and dull gray until the damaged parts of the tether had been completely erased. 

During the process, your breathing had evened out and you’d stopped struggling against his magic, allowing him to drop his hold on you. 

Feeling both drained and elated to share this connection with you, he decided to take a quick nap. Your condition had improved dramatically with the strengthened bond and with the new connection to you he'd be able to tell the moment you woke back up.

He'd been asleep for maybe an hour or two when suddenly there was a firm knock on the door, jerking him awake from his slumped position on the floor by your feet. Unbidden came a vivid memory of a time long passed: a time before the hole in his head. Silly jokes exchanged between a heavy, stone door, hours of laughter and easy conversation. Half of him wanted to ask jokingly, “who's there?” but the other half wanted to scare away possible threats. As usual, his protective instincts won out. 

He squared up his shoulders and growled in warning at the door, then tilted his head to listen as the sound of shuffling and muted voices were heard before one voice cleared their throat. Her throat. A very familiar voice, actually.

“Sans the skeleton if you do not open this door I will be forced to resort to uncivil actions.”

What the fuck? “Toriel?”

Sans could hear a heavy sigh before the ex-queen continued, “I would really prefer not to have this conversation through a closed door. I feel as though the two of us have had many lifetimes worth of conversations like that and I do not wish to add to the count.” Her voice was wry, only the smallest amount of humor could be heard in it. 

Well...if any monster could be trusted not to hurt his mate, it would be Toriel. Sans reluctantly undid his magic fortification and slowly opened the door. 

Toriel looked haggard. With Asgore being long gone, she was the oldest living monster, but it had never shown so obviously until the famine. She'd always managed to keep a youthful air about her, even after the tragic loss of her son. Now, she looked truly ancient. There were deep bags under her eyes, and, while still immaculately clean and neat, her fur was thinner and showing quite a bit of silvery gray among the snow white. 

The sound of another throat clearing snapped his attention from Toriel’s muzzle to look over her shoulder. She was flanked by two very serious, official-looking humans. Immediately his metaphorical hackles were up. Toriel noticed his subtle change in stance and shook her head minutely at him. An indication to stay calm. How the fuck was he supposed to be calm in this situation?! You were still lying vulnerable on the couch, the former queen dropped in unannounced and brings two unfamiliar humans along, right into his territory. He was barely holding on by a thread at this point. 

Quickly filtering through reasons these three might be looking for him, he could feel the panic beginning to rise. Did they trace the murders back to him already? How was that even possible? Of course, in order to apprehend him they'd need magic, and only monsters could utilize magic, and only one living monster was powerful enough to stand against him. Toriel. As far as he knew she was the only other boss monster left besides himself. Shit. He couldn't go with them and leave you behind unguarded but he also couldn't fight Toriel, especially not so near you and your fleshy human body. One stray attack would be enough to snuff out your soul forever. No. No, he'd have to figure something else out. 

“Sans, I would prefer not to have this conversation in the hallway. May we come in?” The thought of having two strange humans barge into your apartment nearly sent him spiraling out of control. No. Absolutely not. 

Seemingly reading his thoughts, the old goat raised her hands placatingly, still trying to keep things calm. 

“It's alright, these two can remain out here.” Toriel glanced over her shoulder to indicate the humans, one of whom looked ready to protest. A scowl slipped onto the goat woman's face and she quipped, “You know I only allow you along as a formality. I'm perfectly capable without bodyguards and you know it.”

That seemed to do the trick as both humans immediately backed down and took up positions on either side of the door frame as Toriel gently closed the door to give Sans a semblance of privacy. She left her hand on the knob for a moment, head bowed, before she heaved a great sigh and turned to face Sans again. Her mouth opened as if to speak when her eyes caught sight of something behind him. Oh. Oh no. 

The exhaustion on Toriel's face disappeared as she went into mom mode: the sight of a defenseless, prone human usually did that to her. She glared at Sans accusingly. 

“Sans Snowdin, would you mind telling me why on earth there is an unconscious, injured human on your couch?”

“...s'not technically my couch…” Sans murmured sullenly but clammed up at Toriel's unamused expression. He was, however, snapped out of his tentative behavior when Toriel took a purposeful step towards you. He did nothing to stifle the warning growl that rumbled out of his chest and firmly blocked her path further into the room. 

Toriel furrowed her fluffy brow in confusion before something seemed to dawn on her. Her paws flew up to cover her snout as her eyes darted back and forth between Sans and the couch behind. Sans tensed, apprehensive and poised to react at a moment's notice. Instead of some sort of negative response, Toriel broke out into a watery grin and placed a paw over her soul. 

“You found them! Oh Sans I'm so happy for you.”

Caught completely off guard, Sans stared blankly at her, struggling to catch up with her change in tone. Toriel, apparently not noticing Sans’ confusion, continued gushing. 

“I cannot imagine how long it has been since a monster had a human soulmate. Probably before the war, they were rare even when humans and monsters lived together...”

Sans no longer feared for your safety but… how did Toriel…?

“...uh. You can tell we're mates?”

She scoffed, waving away his confusion, “Of course I can! You have a very obvious and strong preliminary bond. Quite recently formed if I'm not mistaken. Congratulations, by the way. I remember when Gorey and I first- Oh! You don't want to hear about all this.” She tittered, embarrassed at her ramblings. 

Sans could feel sweat dripping down his skull, even as the relief that Toriel couldn't tell that the bond wasn't exactly… consensual swept through him. A twinge of guilt pierced his soul and you twitched in your sleep in response. A healthy bond indeed…

“Sans… how did your mate get so injured anyway? Why haven't you healed them?”

Another stab of guilt hit him, along with a heavy dose of inadequacy. He lost the ability to heal when he gained the gash in his skull. Paps had always been the more skilled healer anyway…

Toriel seemed to understand from his expression that he was unable to. She motioned towards the couch, “May I?”

Right. There was no better healer than the former queen. You wouldn't be in pain anymore if he let her heal you… it was worth the anxiety his instincts inflicted on him for having another adult monster so close to your vulnerable form. Deep breaths. This was Toriel. She wouldn't hurt you. 

Gentle as ever, the goat monster knelt by your side and hovered a paw above your chest. A warm, green glow flowed from the extended limb and settled on your skin like a fine layer of snow, before slowly fading away, taking outward signs of the abuse you took with it. A huge pressure seemed to ease off of Sans’ soul. He hadn't noticed how much your pain had been affecting him until it was gone. 

Toriel returned to her feet, satisfied with her healing and faced Sans again. Her face hardened, all business now, traces of motherly compassion gone. 

“With that done, it is time to get to the reason I am here. You have missed the last two check ins with your therapist. It already took all the clout I had in order to gain permission for you to leave Ebott. That is why you had such strict rules, any deviation would result in taking you back and rescinding your travel privileges. I did not want to have to do this to you but my hands are tied. I gave my word to the human government that swift action would be taken if you broke the terms of the deal. I would be risking the future of all monsterkind if I continued making exceptions for you. No more. You need to come back, effective immediately. You will be placed under strict monitoring at the embassy until you've been deemed not a threat to humans. I really am sorry.”

Sans felt as though his soul had been dunked in ice water. He had to… return to Ebott. To the place where monsters who used to be his friends and neighbors pretended not to see him. To the place where Papyrus was taken from him. To the place stuck in the shadow of that accursed mountain, his personal hell and prison. And you… how could he ask you to uproot your life just because he fucked up. Just because he desperately needed you. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And with the bond he'd basically taken away your ability to be separated from him permanently. Your souls need each other now. The only relief is that the bond wasn't a complete soulbond. It was still technically breakable…

Breaking it would undoubtedly kill him… but maybe that was for the best… you deserved to live a life of your own choosing, he should have never tried to take that away from you. 

A low whine pulled him from his thoughts and he watched, uncertain and terrified, as your eyes slit open, groggy voice calling out. 

“Sans?”


	10. Sever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans tries to fix his mistake by making another mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Not only did this take me forever but it's like...really bad lmao. I'm sorry. Honestly I didn't even get a chance to edit it so it's probably a little rough. Anyway! I'm trying to keep motivation up so my quality doesn't suffer any more than it already has but it's difficult...but enough of the pity party! Enjoy!(?)

Your thoughts were all jumbled, your body in limbo. Though your eyes were open, there was nothing to see. Your hands reached out to feel around for a surface, an object, a person…anything. Nothing. There was nothing but you and your thoughts. 

The last thing you could remember was being laid out on the old man's couch in the back room but that also seemed like ages ago. You remember an icy prickling in your chest that began when Sans left for the day and it only got worse as the day progressed. You'd decided to huddle up with a blanket while the old man kept an eye on the store and the kid kept you company. Despite the thick quilt and warm human body beside you, the chill in your chest continued to grow more acute. At some point you must have fallen asleep or maybe even passed out? It was impossible to tell. 

As your memories seeped back in, so too did the cold. It crept over your body, inch by inch until you were shivering uncontrollably. Trying to conserve your body heat, you curled into a little ball, pulling your legs to your chest as best you could. It didn't help. Frost continued to settle into you until your movement was completely restricted. Your breaths came in short pants as the cold constricted your lungs and heart. It felt like death… it felt like dying. 

Tears ran down your cheeks, feeling like fire against the chill of your flesh and painful sobs wracked your body. It felt like nearly an eternity of suffering before finally, **finally** there was some relief. 

Something warm pressed against your forehead and you leaned greedily into it, hoping for more contact. Shortly thereafter the ball of ice residing in your chest felt as though it was being gently tugged away. As the source of your pain and discomfort was removed from you, you realized there was finally something else sharing this empty void with you. Although you couldn't see your own icy heart, you could feel its chill nearby. The new presence, however, was fully visible. It appeared as a soft, gray light, like the barest beginnings of dawn in the snow. Melancholy but with a hint of warmth that drew you in like a moth to flame. It was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. It washed over your prone body and melted away the chill that held you captive. Even your heart began to soften and glow. Peace washed over you as the pain dispersed, allowing your heart to return to you. It now held a little bit of that soft, gray light, warming you from the inside like a mug of hot cider. 

Now you could rest….

The next moment of awareness you had, you immediately recognized the familiar feeling of a spring digging into your back. Your fridge was still humming away. Home. Safe...but… voices? One was the deep rumbling of Sans, the other utterly unfamiliar and startlingly pleasant. A stranger in your apartment?! 

Knowing you'd regret it, you blinked, fighting the nasty crusty stuff that impeded your vision. You must have been out for a while if it was that bad. A pathetic whine escaped you as you attempted to sit up and call for your bony roommate. “Sans?”

From where you were laying on the couch, you could see the familiar form of Sans, standing near the doorway. Behind him there was a very tall, elegant, monster woman. She had silky-looking white fur and piercing red eyes. Despite the intensity of her gaze, you couldn’t help but feel soothed by the matronly aura she exuded. 

She spoke to you, revealing tiny little fangs...cute. “Oh, my child! You are awake. How are you feeling?” 

You blinked at her once, not sure how to process what was happening and instead looked to Sans. His gaze was flicking back and forth between you and the lady, that ridiculous blue, magic sweat forming on the back of his skull. 

“Uh-” as you tried to speak, your voice caught in your throat and you began coughing a bit. Snapped out of whatever weird state he was in, Sans strode to the kitchen sink and filled a glass of water for you, which you downed quickly. 

“Oh! I completely forgot to introduce myself!” You looked up at the woman’s exclamation and watched, rather apprehensive as she approached where you sat, paw outstretched. You cast a side glance at Sans, who seemed surprisingly calm at this woman’s approach. Guess that meant you were relatively safe. “My name is Toriel, it is a pleasure to meet you.” You extended your hand in greeting, responding to her introduction and name with your own. “Well it was wonderful to meet you, my child but I’m afraid we have to cut this visit short, as there are other things I must attend to. I look forward to getting to know you better, you are welcome to visit my office in the Embassy at any time.” 

After her exit, you and Sans sat awkwardly in silence for a moment before you turned to look at him. “What did she mean I could visit her at the Embassy? Isn’t the Monster Embassy all the way in Ebott?” The skeleton seemed to jump nervously at your question, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. He was acting even more shifty and weird than usual. He wouldn’t even look at your face, keeping his gaze down on his fiddling phalanges. “Sans!” He finally looked up at you, nothing but guilt on his face, “Sans, what is going on?”

His face crumpled and he murmured softly, “I may have done something bad…” You raised your eyebrows, indicating for him to continue. He heaved a great sigh and collapsed next to you on the couch. “I missed my last two check-ins with my shrink, so I gotta go back to Ebott.” A jolt of surprise and fear shot through you, making your chest ache. He was leaving?

“Surely there’s a bit of leeway? I mean, obviously you can’t tell them why you were actually missing your appointments but surely they can make an exception?” You weren’t sure why but you were suddenly desperate to prevent Sans from having to leave, the very thought had your heart beating with anxiety. You couldn’t lose him. He made you feel...safe.

He just looked pained and shook his head, “I was lucky enough to get permission to leave Ebott before anyone else but only under strict regulations. I have to go back.” 

Okay… that was fine. You'd just be separated for a little bit and then he could come back, right? “A-alright that's okay, right? You can always come back and visit? I mean, visit me? Here?” The pained look on Sans’ face only worsened as you continued. His tense smile tightened even further and a pit of dread opened up in your stomach. This was something worse than what he was telling you. “No? Th-that's fine, I'll just have to visit you instead!” You continued stumbling over rambled sentences until a bony hand was placed on yours, silencing you. 

“‘m really sorry…we won't be able to see each other again after I leave.”

“Hah...hahaha that's really funny Sans…” You tried so hard to believe he was just messing with you, but the way he slipped his hand off yours and averted his gaze confirmed your fears. He was dead serious. 

“Come on, you can't expect me to believe that you'd just slip out of my life like that? After everything that’s happened?” Your eyes begin to feel hot, a telltale sign that you were about to start crying.

“It’s all I can do to fix my mistakes, I’m sorry. Just...hold still for a sec, okay?” Sans slides to sit sideways on the couch, facing you, and with a gentle motion from his hand, you feel something in your chest respond to his beckoning. You’re confused, and a bit unnerved, but Sans just murmurs, “relax…” and you find yourself responding to that deep rumble. The moment you release the tension in your body, the pulling in your chest continues and suddenly, there before you is a small, glowing, cartoon heart. You instinctively feel that this is something of utmost importance to you, and your hands automatically reach out to shield it from sight. Slowly, Sans extends his bony hands out to yours and gently pries them apart. You let him. 

As the little heart transfers over into his hands, you notice a strand of light, leading from it to the center of Sans’ chest. What is that? You feel as though you should know. Finally breaking the strangely reverent silence, Sans speaks to you again, softer than you’ve ever heard him, “this might feel a bit weird, but you’ll be okay.” His good socket drifts closed and he smiles crookedly at you. “Take good care of yourself, ‘cause somebody really cares about you.”.

That sounds way too final for your tastes, you can’t help but think. However, before you can even form a question to ask him what’s going on, Sans places one sharp claw on the tether between the heart and himself. The light pulses frantically, in time with your own thundering heartbeat and you find yourself hurtling your body at the skeleton. You can’t allow him to do whatever it is he’s thinking about doing. 

In an awkward tangle of bony and fleshy limbs, both of you tumble off the couch and onto the ground. You quickly push yourself up onto your arms, and snatch the little heart out of the air where it was hovering, cradling it protectively to your chest. Trying to calm your frantic breathing, you finally notice on what, or rather on whom, you have landed. Sans is splayed out on the floor, single eye light large and a stunned look on his face. You’d managed to land on his ribcage, you could feel the solidness of him under the hand you were still using to prop yourself up. A mixture of embarrassment for your position, and indignation about whatever weird shit Sans just tried to pull fills your chest and colors your face bright red. 

“What the fuck were you just trying to do?!” Sans flinches at the tone of your voice, but you’ve got a LOT of questions and you’re not in the mood for his dodging. “What is this?” You gesture awkwardly, indicating the hand you still have clutched around the heart. “What is that weird string thing and why were you gonna cut it? What the fuck do you mean we’ll never see each other again, what the FUCK is going on!!?” The more questions you manage to spit out at him, the faster you speak, the more hysterical your voice gets, and suddenly you find yourself sobbing desperately. You wheeze in between sobs, neglected lungs seeking air.

Sans, for his part, looks absolutely heartbroken to see your tears but still isn’t answering you. You can, however, see that his gaze keeps shooting to the little heart in your hand, as if he’s worried you’ll smash it. That gives you an idea. You grip the glowing heart in your hand tightly, only vaguely surprised that you can **feel** the pressure on your own body. As you had hoped, Sans looked completely alarmed, sweat forming on his brow as his gaze locks unwaveringly on your closed fist. A strangled sort of whine passes through his clenched jaw and you move your hand as he tries to reach for it. You’ve got him.

“Answer my damn questions, Sans.” Your voice is completely wrecked from your previous sobbing, but stable enough to let the skeleton know you mean business. Seeming resigned, his shoulders relax back into the ground from where he’d lifted up to try and steal the heart back. With a heavy, put-upon sigh, he finally answers you. 

“That’s your soul.”


	11. You Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters are getting shorter and shorter ehehe...

“That’s your soul.” 

Sans was so fucked. Of all the reactions he expected from you, tackling him off the couch to snatch your soul back was not one of them. And now you wanted answers. Great. Now if only you would just **S T O P** squeezing your soul that would be peachy. Wouldn’t that be just his luck: his soulmate accidentally smashes their soul while he’s busy trying to sacrifice his own to save theirs. Ironic. And stupid. They’re perfect for each other.   
“Okay so I’ll tell ya anythin’ you wanna know, jus’...please let go of your soul? Yer gonna hurt it…”

Those beautiful eyes he loves so much narrowed at him in suspicion. “You aren’t gonna do anything weird again, right?”

Heheh. You saw right through him. Dammit you’re too smart. And hot when you’re mad. Or at least more hot than usual. 

“Alright, I won’t even touch it, just...loosen up your grip for me.” Please. 

Although you still had a bit of suspicion in your eyes you conceded and slightly lightened the grip you had on your soul. Sans couldn’t help but to let out an unnecessary breath of relief. Alright, here goes…

“So souls...for both humans and monsters: they’re the culmination of our very beings. Thoughts, feelings, personality, our lives depend on and originate from souls.”

“And the string connecting my soul to your chest is…?”

Oof. Right into the difficult questions. “Welllll…” Sans stretched out his “L”, frantically trying to conjure up a way to explain this that wouldn’t piss you off more or scare you. Your slowly raising eyebrow eventually spurred him into his explanation, “llll….it’s uh...the beginnings of a soul bond. It’s sorta like the monster version of engagement to be married, but-”

“It’s WHAT?”

“Wait, wait let me finish first, don’t be mad-”

“Too fucking late-”

“Look, it was my only option-”

“For what? Your only option to trap me into another controlling relationship?”

“NO!! No, no, never, I just-”

“Just wanted manipulate me into being with you?”

“NO! Well, maybe a little bit-”

Your glare could curdle milk and Sans felt sweat absolutely pouring off of his skull. This was going just about as well as he expected.   
He cut you off before you could sling any more hurtful and shamefully accurate accusations at him, hoping to finish his explanation, “Look, when a soul goes through trauma, it often latches onto another soul it feels safe with, forming a connection. Monsters are kinda fragile, both emotionally and physically, so we need those connections to recover and heal from emotional upheavals. Since you went through all that garbage with that...person...your soul has been leaning on mine, and mine responded automatically. They’re mates, even if the two of us aren’t, they’re designed to help each other. Your human soul, with its determination and power, was able to form something a little more substantial than your typical emotional support bond, it tried for...more.”

You simply stared at him, indicating for him to go on. Well at least you weren’t yelling anymore. 

“When I left you behind to go take out the trash, well....your soul felt abandoned. That’s why you passed out. I had to do something to help, and forming a preliminary bond was the best I could do at the time. Luckily, Tori managed to show up right after, and she was able to heal you a bit. I would have done the same, but I lost that ability when I lost this chunk of my skull.” He gestured loosely at his gaping wound.

“So if you only formed that weird little string-”

“Bond.”

“Right, whatever, you formed it to help me, so why did I catch you trying to cut it?”

“Uhhh…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Sans.” 

The way you said his name sent a violent shiver down his spine. Fuck, he couldn’t lie to you. Not when you told him like **that**. 

“I was gonna uh...leave. If I kept that bond to you, it would injure your soul when I left.”

“I heard that stumble. What would have actually happened if you broke it?”

Sans let out a huge sigh, you weren’t gonna let this go, were you? “I woulda dusted. It probably wouldn’t happen right away, I was planin’ on shortcutting away first so you didn’t have to see it. ‘S pretty disturbing.” Or at least it was disturbing, the first time he saw a monster dust. Now he could hardly muster a shit to give about other monsters dusting, excluding Paps...Fuck. Papyrus would be so furious with him if he knew what he’d been doing. Stalking and harassing his soulmate, hurting and scaring their friends, killing humans again…. **enjoying it a bit too much….** and….wait. You were crying?

Before he could so much as blink, your hand whipped up and slapped him right across his cheekbone, hard. On impulse, he followed the motion of your hand, trying to minimize the damage done to you.

“YOU IDIOT!”

Eye sockets wide in astonishment, Sans stared at you in awe as you rose up to your full (not particularly intimidating) height, cradling the hand you’d slapped him with. 

“Do you think that would have made me happy you stupid moron?!” Sans was dumbfounded by this reaction, too stunned to respond to your shrieked question. 

“You were gonna just fuck off to wherever to die alone and never tell me?! And I would live out the rest of my life having no clue what happened to you?” 

Well, when you put it like that…

“I care about you, you big, stupid buffoon! Fuck!”

Aaand now you were pacing AND crying. Yep, he was the scum of the earth. Lowest of the low… but still. Your soul pulsed brilliantly with the conviction of your earnest feelings for him. It was riveting, it was beautiful. Perfect. And he almost fucked it all up. 

His voice finally came out, so small and timid, “'m sorry. I know it's no excuse for my actions, but I am sorry.”

You stopped pacing abruptly and turned to face him, noisily sniffling and wiping your eyes with your sleeves. You looked so absolutely pitiful that he hefted himself to his feet and pulled you into an embrace. Your hands were caught between Sans' body and your own, he could feel the gentle hum of your soul, still clutched in your palm. Slowly, hesitantly, your arms mirrored his, and you wrapped them as best you could around him. 

Pressed against him as you were, he could feel as you took a deep inhale and let it back out. "I'm going with you."

And now he's choking on nonexistent spit. Aaand you're looking at him with those determined eyes. Fuck.

"I'm going with you to Ebott, you can't stop me."

Hah! As if he'd want to stop you...but, "What about your friends here? The old man, the kid? Your job? Your place?"

Nope, that determined set of your jaw was going strong. "My friends have my number, we can stay in touch. My job is whatever, and this place is…" You scowled adorably, nose all scrunched up. He supposes you did get kidnapped from here before, that'd sour anybody's opinion of a place. 

"Well shit, guess I really did freak out over nothing. My whole motivation was to keep from holding you back…"

"Like I said, you're a big idiot. Look, I'm not really mad anymore. Well, I am pissed you didn't ask me first before essentially proposing but I suppose your heart was in the right place."

"... you really sure you wanna move to Ebott? Most of the humans left, just us monsters now. Unstable monsters, less well adjusted than me."

"Toriel seemed perfectly normal to me."

"Yeah, well she's kinda the exception. She didn't have the same… diet…. as the rest of the Underground."

Sans saw you shudder at that...right, probably not the greatest topic to discuss with his **human** soulmate. As though snapping out of a trance, you shook your head firmly and declared, “Well, better start packing!”


	12. New Home

The next couple of days absolutely flew by. You weren't attached to most of your furniture, it was all old and busted anyway, so you were just gonna donate the salvageable stuff and toss the rest. Initially you were worried you wouldn't be able to get out of your lease, but one meeting between Sans and your landlord netted you a swift reprieve. You halfheartedly scolded Sans for his intimidation tactics but in the end, it worked out great for you so you couldn't complain too much. 

You made sure to transfer your prescriptions to a pharmacy in Ebott, and Sans helped you get in contact with the psychiatrist he'd be seeing once back in town. One less thing to worry about for you. 

Your boss was sad to see you go, but understanding. Much to Sans' annoyance she gave you a big bear hug when it was finally time to part ways. At least he didn't growl this time! Progress! 

It really was difficult saying goodbye to everybody who'd been helping you out but you were ready to face this next adventure, you were ready for a change.

Before you knew it, you and your bony companion were sitting side-by-side on an old bus, clutching duffle bags and backpacks full of clothes and essentials. Sans said the place Toriel set aside should have furniture and everything all ready for move-in, so you had nothing to worry about. Now you just had a long bus ride to sit through. 

You taught Sans how to play road trip games, most of which you could tell he was only tolerating to amuse you. After you had become bored with pointing out unique license plates, you decided a nap was in order. Luckily, you had the comfiest travel partner around, who was more than happy to have you sprawled across his lap. As you drifted off you made a mental note to ask Sans how he was so soft to lay on when he was all bones. You also decided not to call him out when you felt phalanges softly sifting through your hair. 

💀💀💀

You awoke to Sans gently shaking your shoulder, murmuring that you'd reached Ebott.  
Luckily, it was only a short walk from the bus depot to the Monster Embassy, so the two of you only had to drag your minimal luggage with you a few blocks. 

The streets of the Monster district were eerily empty, only a handful of monsters were out and about. It was pretty unnerving to watch them scramble to cross the street to get away from the two of you. At first you thought they were wary of you, being a strange human and all, but soon it became apparent that they were avoiding Sans like the plague. You only saw two other humans during your trek, and both seemed to be in quite the rush, as if they wanted to spend the least amount of time there possible. 

The Embassy building was a squat, brick building, possibly the remains of an old city library. Inside, at the front desk was a monster with nothing but a hand for a face and body. After spending so much time around a humanoid monster like Sans, it was pretty jarring to see something completely different. 

The hand-person directed the two of you towards Toriel's office, to which Sans waved them off, already familiar with the building. The office was rather humble for somebody who used to hold the title of Queen but from what Sans had told you she had never really been big on formality. There were lots of pictures of a thin, pale, young girl you recognized as the child who helped break the barrier. Apparently she had left after the monster embassy was founded, never to be seen again. You didn't blame her. She undoubtedly saw horrors you could never imagine, and she was only a kid. You would run away too. 

You stood studying the photos while you and Sans waited for Toriel to finish up a phone call. Sans looked profoundly bored, reminding you how little he'd wanted to return to Ebott. You'd learn to make it work though. 

"Oh! Hello Sans, my child," Toriel greeted after placing her phone on her desk. You wanted to be offended at being called a child but figured you'd see everybody as children too if you'd lived as long as the goat monster. "I trust your commute wasn't too taxing?"

Sans responded with a shrug, "'s alright."

Pretty soon the former queen had you and Sans set up with a room in the apartment complex right across the street from the embassy. Apparently the entire thing had been remodeled to accommodate the many different varieties of monsters. There was a floor kept hot and another kept cold and you'd overheard the was even a floor made into a huge aquarium for the aquatic monsters. All these were feats of architecture that would no doubt be impossible without the aid of magic (and money from the government). 

The room you and Sans were assigned was a bit weird for you in that it was obviously designed for beings larger than the average human. You felt like a child sitting on the couch, your feet couldn't even touch the ground!

You supposed it was better than your apartment though, poor Sans always looked like he had to hunch in on himself just to fit in your tiny apartment. Now at least he could sit without the fear of the couch giving in on him. Speaking of…

"I know back at my place you had the couch and I had the bed, but I think it'd be better if you took the bed." Not only was that more fair, but Sans didn't need to know about your new phobia… you really didn't want to sleep in a bed anymore. You had secretly been sleeping in a blanket pile on the floor in your room, making sure to clean up every morning so Sans wouldn't notice. No doubt he'd get all weird and protective if he noticed. 

Instead of answering you, or putting up some sort of resistance to your suggestion, he merely grabbed your hand and led you back into the bedroom. When you saw how it was furnished you couldn't help but burst out laughing. "You think of everything, don't you?" How he figured it out, you'll probably never know, but it seems your bony roommate was already one step ahead of you. Instead of a bed frame and mattress there was a folding couch-futon. It was so silly, so perfect...so like Sans to think of this, just for you. He was always doing little things like this: noticing your likes and dislikes, anticipating your needs, everything. You can hardly remember what your life was like before he entered it. Your laughter petered off and tears started to gather in your eyes. Before he could say anything, you turned around and buried your face in his chest, squeezing him in a tight hug, hoping it conveyed your appreciation. He heartily returned your affection, chest vibrating with a sound that very clearly resembled a feline purr...cute…

That evening, the two of you took advantage of your brand new cooking space and made a hearty meal of stew. It was nice to have enough room for both of you to cook together, although you did have to utilize a step stool in order to reach the very high countertops. Damn the tallness of monsters! 

Despite the slight inconvenience of the high appliances (Sans had to help reach some of the top cupboards), cooking together ended up being a happy, wholesome experience. It had that strange, ethereal feeling of happiness on a holiday morning, a warm glow warming your chest and filling your heart with joy. You couldn't remember the last time you were so happy. It made you want to laugh giddily and cry at the same time. That night you went to bed in your new futon, full, warm, and safe. Maybe your life was finally turning around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My aroace ass is really bad at showing romantic love, I really hope their progress isn't too slow or weird or whatever. I'm trying! 
> 
> Also! If you like these two nerds and want to see an AU of them, consider checking out my new story: (I don't want to) Reset.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes as well.
> 
> Feel free to hmu on Twitter @opocoon


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